The Fall of a Legion (Renegades Saga, Book 11)
by Renegades Inc
Summary: The Emperor's Children, loyal to the Chaos Imperium, push deeper into the rebellious realm of Ultramar despite internal struggles between the contrasting gods of Slaanesh and the Emperor. The Ultramarines and their allies resist, and the hateful Night Lords set their own vendettas in motion. Written by gothik, 2014. Takes place early 004.M31.
1. Prologue

The _Nightfall_ was silent. Around the remains of the planet Nostramo, all Night Lord vessels had gathered, and every single Night Lord had assembled in their ships' great halls to hear the words of their father. It had been six weeks since the Word Bearers had destroyed their homeworld, their betrayal at the hands of the Emperor complete.

Not one warrior spoke. Many of them had their thoughts with their dead world. Some still had family alive down there - ancestors who they had kept an eye on, possible future lines in their ranks to carry on their legacy. The deaths of the recruits and novitiates, who would have made their mark with the Night Lords given time, hurt as well. The Arbites who had been training on the violent streets of Nostramo Qunitus would have become the greatest lawkeepers of the galaxy, had the accursed daemon-lovers not destroyed their world.

It was like a simmering rage that refused to die. No matter how long they lived, the Night Lords would remember what had been done to them. Under ordinary circumstances, their ire would have been reserved for the Raven Guard, but not now, not any more. Now, it was reserved for the Emperor and the Word Bearers. They were a Legion alone, and they alone would bring their wrath to anything the Emperor touched.

The screens that had been dark now lit up around the fleet, as the pale and cold visage of the Dark King appeared on the screen.

"Sons and daughters of Nostramo, listen to me, and listen to me well. We have been betrayed, not only by the accursed weak-willed Word Bearers and their coward of a father, but by the Emperor himself."

The Primarch stood before a lectern. His silver arm, a gift from Ferrus, glinted in the few lights that shone on the Primarch. His face, however, was shadowed, bowed as if struggling to contain his fury at what had happened. His mind stung from the cries he had felt reach out to him as death rained upon his world, his perfect ordered world.

The betrayal he had expected, he had always expected, but this... this was unforgivable in his eyes.

He had known his world would die, but he had not foreseen its murderer.

When he raised his head, all that had been Konrad Curze was gone, whatever was left of him shattered into a thousand pieces and scattered on the winds of his world's destruction. Now and forevermore, he would be the Night Haunter, and he would bring his vengeance to the Emperor's alliance, teaching all the true meaning of fear.

"They have not yet seen the full wrath of the Night Lords, but they will, oh they will, my beloved sons and daughters. We are all that is left of the Nostraman people, and we will be their vengeance from beyond the grave. A million million souls cry out from the dust of our world, and what king would I be if I did not heed their cry?"

His pale face raised, so that his sons could see the full fury of his emotions. Fear radiated out from him in a giant wave. When he had woken from his medically induced coma, he had been told by Sevatarion what had happened. He had held himself in seclusion for a week or two, fighting with himself, his own inner demons finally taking control of his fractured mind. The Night Haunter had finally taken control of him. Konrad Curze truly was dead.

"Sahaal, under my orders you and Second Company are to find a world suitable for our needs, one that, like Nostramo, is night-dominated so that we can rebuild our numbers. Ave Dominus Nox."

The Second Captain saluted his father and bowed his head, swearing to find a world that would be suitable for them to colonise and control.

"First Company shall come with me, I have plans afoot. The rest of you, start reaping the revenge dues. Bring fear to the galaxy, fear and order! No longer, my sons, are we the extension of the Emperor's Justice, for he has failed us. He could not control us, so he took away that which made us. But he will learn, oh yes he will learn that what makes a Night Lord is not the aimless following of the Imperial Eagle, which we have never worn like those imbeciles of Fulgrim's."

He stood straighter and folded his arms across his chest. Every man, woman, and Astarte under his command, across his entire fleet, moved to one knee, the humans keeping their gaze lowered less they lose their minds in the presence of a Primarch.

"Our wings are the bat's, and our judgment is our own. Our talons shall forever be bloodied, and in that blood we will drown our enemies. We come for them!"

The noise from the Night Lords seemed to echo out to the grave of their world. Those bastards would know what it meant to bring fear incarnate into their petty power plays.

Sevatarion waited for his master to step down and bowed his head. "I am sorry, father, I should have tried to stop Lorgar."

"Yes, but that was not your fault, my son. Lorgar is a Primarch. I should have not been so weak as to allow the Raven to incapacitate me. Lorgar will get his due, I promise you that. For now, have the Master take the _Nightfall_ to Ultramar."

Sevatar arched an eyebrow. "Forgive me, lord, are we throwing our lot in with the Ultramarines?!"

"No. I am going to teach Fulgrim a lesson, one I should have taught him years ago... he betrayed me to the others when I thought he was my truest confidant. However, if in the course of that revenge, I must work with or against the Ultramarines, then..." The Night Haunter shrugged. "So be it"

"It shall be done."

The Primarch returned to his chambers, the sound of thousands of outraged voices, human and Astarte, ringing in his ear.


	2. Introduction

It is a period of civil war. Rebel spaceships, led by the former imperial Warmaster Horus, are beginning their campaigns against the corrupted Imperium of Man.

Against them, the nigh-immortal Emperor waits on his Golden Throne. Allied with him are the four Chaos Gods, eldritch nightmares thirsting for human suffering. The Space Marines, once the Imperium's finest soldiers, are divided. The Night Lords, loyal to the Emperor, were sent to retrieve gene-seed of Legions long lost. On Sturmgarten, once the home of the XI Storm Riders Legion, they came into conflict with the Raven Guard under Corvus Corax, grudging allies of the Warmaster. Corax was speared by the Night Haunter's talons, Mercy and Forgiveness, while the Night Haunter lost his arm to the Raven's Claw. But the conflict was arrested by the realization that they had both been set up. Upon the Night Lords' return to Nostramo, the Primarch Lorgar punished the Night Lords by destroying their homeworld, and thus severed their last bonds to anything resembling restraint.

Meanwhile, the outnumbered Ultramarines, rebelling against the Emperor, try to hold onto their realm of Ultramar, under assault by the Imperial Legion of the Emperor's Children, without their own Primarch Guilliman there to lead them. But the Emperor's Children are degrading more and more into the worship of Slaanesh and away from the Emperor's perfection, a descent that nevertheless grants them great power. Defectors from the Emperor's Children have formed an independent Chapter - the Celestial Lions - and have sworn to aid the Ultramarines against their former brothers, and Marius Gage, the Ultramarine commander, has sent out a request for help. Ultramar will fight to the end... but at what cost? An unlikely alliance will be formed, vendettas and other plots will simmer, and a Legion will fall.

The screams and pleas of the innocent will have no effect - not anymore. The age of debate and enlightenment is over. The dream of empire has ended.

The nightmare has begun.


	3. Chapter One

Julius Kaesoron was a Captain without a Legion, an exiled Chemosian, and being away from his father's side was like an addict being stuck without his fix. His soul, like that of his brothers, rebelled against the very idea of rebellion at first, for they needed to be with their father. But now that was counterbalanced by the knowledge that what they were doing was needed - now, after several weeks away from the madness that the Legion had become, if it was even a Legion any more, for after what he had seen weeks ago he was not even sure the Emperor's Children could be described as such. Even Fulgrim appeared to be losing interest in Legion business, his own needs and desires becoming more paramount in his eyes than his father's wishes.

He sat watching the Ultramarines finally bring back the last of their dead, at least of those that had been found. None of the 21st Company had survived, and whilst it might have been a drop in the ocean to a Legion as vast as the Ultramarines, here and now, on this battlefield, in this part of the Imperium Secundus, it was a blow. The gene-seed had been recovered, but would have to go into storage until they made it back to Macragge. If they made it back.

For some reason the Emperor's Children had withdrawn from the field of battle, but the Lion of Chemos knew they would be back. They were taking them for sport. He began to wonder - where, exactly, had it all gone wrong? When did all that he had been fighting for suddenly turn on its head, brother against brother, cousin against cousin, father against son? When had the Great Crusade taken on a new meaning? Where once it sought to illuminate mankind and her scattered dominion that there was no god or gods, that man stood above such petty beliefs, now it was akin to one of the holy crusades of old, a religious jihad of such great proportion that eventually the Emperor was going to lose his sons to the very beings he once said did not exist.

Laeran - that had been the turning point for his brothers and father. Although, deep down, he suspected that his father's corruption had begun before the Laeran war. He rubbed his brow; that blasted music and that sword. Had he known then what he knew now, he would have broken the damn thing in half, but Fulgrim had liked it, and the more he wore it the more he became attached to it, even more than the sword given to him by Ferrus Manus to seal their pact of brotherhood. And when, at Sol, Fulgrim had gifted that blade to the Emperor, when it seemed the Legion had stepped back from the abyss - that had been when they were truly lost.

He went over everything in his mind, his memory recalling everything with eidetic clarity. At first he had wanted to embrace the new path, for this was what the Emperor had wanted. But then, with the experiments that Bile was conducting on his brothers under Fulgrim's orders, and Fulgrim's refusal to corral his brothers' darker instincts, and worst of all, the daemons and worship of the abomination Slaanesh - as the evidence mounted, he began to have doubts. Once he had seen what was becoming of his brothers, how their baser instincts were becoming more prevalent, it had not taken long to convince some of his other brothers to join him in an escape.

He had wanted to get Demeter and Vairosean on board, but... well, his fight with the Second Captain had proved that he had finally embraced his father's vision. He had not seen Vairosean, but he had no doubt that he too was lost.

He had decisions to make. There had to be a hierarchy to the Celestial Lions, whom he would address later in the day. For now, he expunged the bond to his father and his brothers. He could not allow this to go on, so with a heavy heart, he sent his message to the Warmaster, informing him that the Celestial Lions stood ready to join him and his campaign. With that message sent, his defection and betrayal was complete.

Julius Kaesoron was a First Captain with a new purpose... no, not a First Captain, a Chapter Master.

* * *

Fulgrim sat in his sanctum, a place now so different to what it had been, all but a shrine to the excesses that he was beginning to enjoy. Yet now those desires were hollowed out by rage. He let the anger flow through him: he knew there were weaker elements within his sons that needed purging, but the Lion of Chemos? That had been a kick in the teeth, that his favoured son had left his side. Where, he did not know; all he knew was that Kaesoron and four companies had left his majestic self.

How dare they do such a thing? How dare they betray the one who had given them their life, how dare they take the gifts his own genes had afforded them and use it against him?!

 **THIS WAS NOT HOW IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE.**

He calmed himself and poured some wine. Rising from his seat, he stood before the window that afforded him a view of the planet below him. Drastic measures, he suspected, would have to be taken. There was an element of rot within the Emperor's Children, one that he would have to clean out. He picked up his data pad and read it. Top of the list was Lucius. The newly restored 13th Captain had not been content with the reversal of his punishment, and instead sought to undermine his superiors and Fulgrim himself. His time would come, as would Eidolon's. Oh, he had his eye on that one; he had gotten cocky, above his station. The Lord Commander thought that he alone spoke with the authority of the Primarch in his absence.

No one spoke with Fulgrim's authority unless he said they did. Once, the former First Captain, his most beloved son, had most often assumed that mantle. Now it fell into Vespasian's hands. Of course, if he did what they had spoken about, then he would soon know which of his sons favoured this god more than him. In order for the Emperor's Children to reach perfection, there had to be no doubt that they saw him alone as the path to it. They must do as _he_ told them, and not some Warp being that had promised them everything but could not truly deliver them, not like he could.

Fulgrim had felt it for the last few weeks - a calling that spoke of godhood to him, a place among the pantheon that would rival even the god of pleasure and pain themselves. He deserved to be alongside his father in godhood, for was he not the pinnacle of his father's gene-science? He would take the Empire of the Ultramarines, he was certain of that, but in doing so he would root out the sons that would rather debase themselves than fight the perfect battles that he wanted them too.

Lorgar had warned him that he would need to do this at some point, that he would have to weed out the weak from the strong. But with all that had befallen them in the beginning he had not been prepared to take such a drastic action. An accident with his own gene-seed had meant that the Emperor's Children had been nearly extinct when he had found them, having to fight alongside Horus until they were up to strength. He had wished to avoid any such winnowing happening again - but he knew now it was necessary, for reasons of loyalty.

He wanted to know who he could trust and who he couldn't. Fulgrim wanted perfection, but he wanted it his way and nobody else's. His Legion and his Legion alone bore the Imperial Eagle, but now he understood that not all of the Legion were worthy. He had watched what remained of the Ultramarines fleet leave the now ruined world of Carenn, and retreat. He knew where they were heading, for if he were Marius Gage it was where he would go without hesitation. It would be his next course of action, once he had appointed a new First Captain.

"Calth," he rumbled. "I will destroy them on Calth."

Fulgrim was still a son of the Emperor, with all the tactical understanding that implied. Calth was one of the jewels in the crown of the Realm of Ultramar. He knew it was where they did much of their recruiting and training for future sons of Gulliman, and he knew that if he struck a blow at Calth, one they would not recover from, then his pathway to Macragge itself was clear.

He turned as Solomon Demeter walked in and moved to one knee. Fulgrim watched his former Second Captain. He had been told of what had happened to the vaunted captain - he had been blessed, and he had killed those in his company that had denied the path of the Legion, including his favoured sergeant Caphen.

"You wanted to see me, my lord?"

There was something different about his voice: it seemed to be in two realms at once. Fulgrim was silent for a moment, recalling the moment he had stood side-by-side with Solomon looking into the Warp. Now he understood. Contemplative, Fulgrim rested a huge gauntlet on his son's shoulder.

"Who are you loyal to, Solomon?" the Primarch quietly asked. His voice was like honey over silk, and he saw the intake of breath his son made at contact with the sound of his father's voice.

"The Phoenician above all things," Demeter replied, his head still bowed.

"Where is Vairosean? Has he truly left?"

"I do not know, father; those of his company that followed him have gone too."

"To Julius?"

"I do not know."

Fulgrim nodded, appreciative of the honest admission, and bid his son to rise. "It is time, Solomon. You will be my new First Captain, a position you have earnt, my son. Forget not what I have given you and place me above all others; together we will build a new Legion, even if it means destroying the old, and like the mythical Phoenix, we will rise from the flames of destruction a new, powerful force."

Solomon Demeter bowed his head, his hearts singing with the joy that his father had given him. He would not betray Fulgrim, for Fulgrim was in his heart and his soul. It was Fulgrim that had shown him the way to release his potential, and he would never forget that.

"Good. Take yourself to your company and inform them they are now First Company, and let us prepare."

"Your orders, father?"

"Calth, my son. We go to Calth; and when you have taken the news of ascension to the Second, return to me, for there are other things that we must discuss with Lord Commander Vespasian. I have given him the worlds we will take here so that he can build his own empire in my name."

Fulgrim clasped his hands behind his back. There was silence for a long while as he let the words sink into his new First Captain.

"And when I find Julius, you, my beloved Solomon, may have the honour of killing him."

Solomon Demeter smiled evilly and walked out of the Phoenician's chambers.


	4. Chapter Two

In one of the sparring chambers aboard the _Macragge's Honour_ , Julius Kaesoron waited for the remnants of his trusted brothers to come in. With their own internal fighting and company massacres, he had in effect about six thousand men. Not nearly enough, but it was a start. Beside him the Regent of Ultramar stood, as a witness and advisor rather than an authority.

Both men had been awake for most the night going over who was best for what position, and despite their differences in doctrine, it had felt good that the Lion of Chemos knew he could trust the words of the mighty Chapter Master of the Ultramarines. Mistress Tanya of the Astropathic Choir stood ready to take the names and hierarchy of the Celestial Lions to the Choir, which would then be sent - or at least attempted to be sent - to Horus and Guilliman. Thus it would be that they would be entered as an independen Chapter, loyal to the Warmaster and humanity.

Last night they had learnt the fate of Nostramo, when Mistress Tanya explained why some of the Choir had suddenly convulsed and fitted then died, or had to be euthanised. Millions of minds had been snuffed out in a single, violent blow, one that had caused Warp Storms detectable from Ultramar to swarm the galactic northeast for weeks.

Both Astartes wondered if Curze had finally gone mad and destroyed his own world, but after debating it, both had come to the conclusion that they doubted he would have. In his warped mind it was the world of perfect order; he was not about to destroy what he saw as a beacon to other worlds and a benchmark of how all Imperial worlds should be run.

Marius had explained that, in the absence of his father, or any other Primarch, he would oversee the founding of the Celestial Lions into the official records. He also explained that, due to the losses he had suffered, including the entire 21st Company, he had sent a request for aid to the forces of the Warmaster and asked them to rendezvous at Calth. At first Marius had scoffed at the idea of one of the best-defended worlds of the Ultramarines' empire being a target, but when Julius had said that he would have attacked it, and the strategic reasons why, Gage had to admit that the Army stationed there could never be ferocious enough to thwart the Emperor's Children. Such a task needed Astartes.

Now they stood, looking over the ranks of the newly-painted armour of celestial blue, with the Lion of Chemos rampant on their pauldrons, the Imperial Eagle no longer on their armour. They had already sworn their oaths to protect the Imperium from any and all enemies, within and without, and to follow the tenement of the Imperial Truth. Now all that was left to do was choose a hierarchy. Julius Kaesoron was to be the Chapter Master, retaining all the authority of a Primarch to his chapter without the royal blood in his veins. The First Captain was named as Krysander, his battle experience and honours making him more than eligible to be the First, but in recognition of his actions alongside his captain over the centuries, Davars was named as Second Company Captain. Korander became the Third Company's Captain, Astarune the Fourth's, Onurry the Fifth's, and Sergeant Wasnus was promoted as Sixth Company Captain, the company that, when there was time, would train the future of the fledgling Chapter - if such a future ever came.

There were no cheers, or gauntlet-slapping, not like there would have been in the Heliopolis at such promotions. Gage noticed the melancholy that sat over the warriors of the newly inducted Celestial Lions. They were grieving, grieving that all they had known, all they had fought for as sons of the Emperor, as Fulgrim's chosen from a world full of budding legends, was gone. Their old brothers had gone insane, perverted into a parody of the Third Legion of yore. Ancient Rylanor was given guardianship over the Chapter; he would be called in times of great need, and he was to be the Chaplain, the one who would hear their confessions and watch to ensure the Chapter did not fall as their former brothers had.

"Captains, appoint your sergeants and their squads; let me know by day's end who is who and prepare for battle on Calth. Marius..." Julius turned to the Regent of Ultramar. "Fulgrim plans to capture the young of his conquered enemies and train them to become his future generation. Whatever happens, the young on Calth must be protected."

"That will go without saying," Marius mused. "But why not Chemos?"

That had confused Kaesoron for a time, but not anymore. "He wants to ensure they are loyal to him and him alone." Julius turned his back for a moment and lowered his voice. "He is going to purge the Legion, and to rebuild it, he is going to want the equivalent of your Legion or even the Warmaster's. Warriors who will do what he says and what he says alone."

"That would make sense, but why not just purge them as the others have?"

"He wants it to be in the face of war; that way, he will not be seen as the one who orchestrated it."

Gage nodded a little and made a mental note to ensure the barracks of Calth were protected, no matter the cost. He looked back out at the Celestial Lions ."Well, the young that we rescued from Carenn belong to your Chapter. What will you do?"

"Place them in the care of Ancient Rylanor for now, until we find a home-world and a place to keep them safe," Julius remarked.

"We can help with that."

"I thank you Marius, but it is our duty to find one. Until such a time, though, we stand together to face our former brothers alongside our cousins."

Marius Gage shook the outstretched hand and lowered his own voice. "And let us hope that we get aid, or this new page will be over before it has begun."

* * *

The Space Wolves howled in victory as the orks lay dead around their feet. This had been a grand battle that the skalds would sing off for years to come, but it was one the Rout had never truly feared lost, for at the head of their forces, with his two great Fenrisian Wolves by his side, stood the mighty figure of their father, Leman Russ, the Wolf King, Prince of Fenris.

The Orcs had been plaguing the Eshara System for months, indeed they had almost overrun it, until the Space Wolves arrived. Suddenly this was not a case of an easy victory for the orks, but a bloody battle. The Wolves that had died were already being taken back to their ships, their gene-seed harvested, their bodies to be given back to Mother Fenris. The blood of Astarte and xeno littered the ground, making it a swamp of red and green blood that had merged into a sticky slick full of brains, intestines, and other body parts.

The Wolves howled louder as their beloved father held high the Waaaaagh boss's head, looked at it for a moment, then contemptuously tossed it aside. The Liberation of Kasan XXI was complete. He left the Imperial Army's command to deal with the populace, to assure them that all was now well, and he ordered that the 9th and 15th Companies remain for a time, to ensure that if the orks tried to return they would receive a suitable welcome.

When he returned to the _Hrafnkel_ , he was met by the master of Astopaths, Tobias Echela, who bowed low and had to quicken his steps just to keep up with the giant Primarch's stroll. "My lord, we have picked up … excuse me... a request from Chapter Master Marius Gage of the Ultramarines."

Russ stopped walking and looked down at the human. He was tall for a human, but still only came up to his thigh. He was the master of the Astropathic choir and deserved the Primarch's attention. Russ waited for him to catch his breath, his two wolves straining to move where they could rest. He handed them to Bjorn the Fell-Handed and stood waiting, his eyebrow arched.

"The Emperor's Children have attacked the outer sphere of Ultramar. Chapter Master Gage, along with defectors from the Emperor's Children calling themselves the Celestial Lions, are falling back to Calth to defend their barracks and the gateway to Macragge. The Chapter Master is calling for aid." And Eshara's location in the galactic east, of course, was within reach of Ultramar.

Russ nodded once and headed for the bridge. "I will not ignore a call from my brother's noble legion; send a message back to the Chapter Master with my respects. Tell him that the Rout is on the way."

"Yes, my lord."

"Brann." The jarl of the 7th Company turned and bowed his head. "Head to the bridge, tell the Master to make speed to Calth, and have the others follow us, for we are going to hunt Fulgrim." The Primarch added a growl to his voice and his teeth showed.

"By your command, father."

Russ clenched his fists as he made his way to his sanctum. He had scores to settle with Angron, but that was a matter for another day. Now, now he was going to deal with Fulgrim; and for the Chapter Master of the Ultramarines to ask for aid, the situation in Ultramar must have been dire indeed.

"Calth, father?" Bjorn fell into step next to him, the two wolves walking ahead.

"You heard that then?" Bjorn nodded. "It would seem that the Emperor's Children are after Ultramar, and they need the Wolves to save them from the monsters in the dark."

* * *

He sat quietly, letting the Warp travel by. Every now and then he would feel something bump against the hull, but he had every confidence that whatever was trying to get in at the humans who aided in the running of his ship, wouldn't.

He was not sure if he would even be heard, or granted an audience, but something like this could not be given to another. He had to take the news to his grandfather himself. Of course, there was no guarantee that he would be listened to. Somehow, he did not believe that the Emperor would ever see Fulgrim as betraying him. Once upon a time that would have been true: Fulgrim lived for his father and desperately wanted to emulate his father in all things, striving for the perfection that always seemed out of reach. As perfect as Fulgrim was, he would never ascend as high as his father.

No one ever could.

No one ever should.

Marius Vairosean was lost. He had seen the slow corruption that had taken hold of his best friend, and he could only now imagine what tortures Solomon was going through, if any. One moment he was unsure and hating the changes in the Legion, the next, after spending time with their father, he said he was at peace with it.

And Julius, his other friend... what would drive Julius and five companies to betray the Imperium? Not just the Primarch, but the Emperor too. Kaesoron was betraying the Emperor. Vairosean had seen where the shuttle that took the former First Captain to the surface was heading, namely into the Ultramarine battle lines.

He moved his gaze from the Warp and her shimmering colours to the crew listing that was on his desk. A fraction of Third Company had come with him, while the others had stayed with the Primarch. He hoped that he would be allowed to continue to serve his grandfather, in whatever fate awaited him and those who had followed.

He got up and looked at his armour. He was not sure he could wear these colours any more, for they would serve as a reminder to how far from the righteous path his brothers had fallen. Once he had seen the Emperor, there would be no going back. He turned as Sergeant Terogil cleared his throat; he wore his robes, as all of the remaining members of the Third Company had done, awaiting their commander's order.

"Your orders, captain?"

Vairosean picked up a brush and began to change the colours of his armour. "We are no longer Emperor's Children." His voice cracked a little, but he recovered quickly. "We are the Emperor's vengeance against the creeping corruption that has taken our brothers, and so we shall be known as the Emperor's Blades."

"As you command, Lord."

The former Third Captain of the Emperor's Children said no more.


	5. Chapter Three

The _Nightfall_ translated into Ultramar but stayed out of the reach of sensors. In his strategium, alongside his beloved First Captain and other members of his inner circle, his favoured Sergeant Mikhail Trueze with them as tactical advisor, he looked at the destruction that had been wrought across the cluster of worlds known as the Outer Sphere.

"Reports we have intercepted have marked a change in the Emperor's Children." Sheng cleared his throat. "They are also calling for the head of their First Captain himself."

Sevatar glanced up. "You think the Lion has defected?"

"From what we intercepted, he has done that with five other companies, although I doubt they are full companies," Sheng replied.

"Mikhail." Curze turned to his sergeant, a man he had first known as a child when he was still hunting the crime lords and politicians back on Nostramo. "Take your squad down to Carenn and investigate for me. If there are any survivors, ask for details. If there are any Emperor's Children, bring them here for... questioning."

"By your command, father." Trueze bowed his head.

"Requesting permission to accompany Squad Trueze." That was Captain Uvensa, newly promoted to the 3rd Company's captaincy at the recommendation of the Prince of Crows himself.

"Reason?"

"I worked with the Emperor's Children extensively during the Sebeten Campaign several decades ago, my liege; I know how they work, and I might be of some aid to the Veteran Sergeant."

Curze thought for a moment. Uvensa was a Nostraman, pale skinned, dark haired and albino eyed. He had a good battle record, but he was also a thinker, and Sevatarion liked the way the captain considered the paths of war, almost as if he could envision what was happening and work it out like a Nostraman Justicar working a crime scene. He looked for the evidence to coincide with his conclusions and he never stopped until he found what he was looking for; then, and only then, did he act.

So when Jago had come to him with his recommendation to replace Acerbus, Curze had agreed completely. For what he had planned, he needed those of his sons who could think like warriors as well as act like warriors, not just purveyors of random violence. The Night Lords were all about fear, but fear could be stronger when used sparingly; sometimes they had to survey their hunting ground before they brought the justice of the Night Haunter to worlds that had none.

The Primarch dismissed the Kyroptera, and the First Captain trotted up to where Mikhail was about to head to his squad.

"Mikhail, a moment."

"My Lord?" The Veteran Sergeant turned and bowed his head at the First Captain's approach.

"Mikhail, you and I both hold an intimate knowledge of the Primarch." Sevatar moved Mikhail into another room and shut the door. "Speak plain, my friend, how do you see him?"

Mikhail was silent for what seemed like ages, gathering his thoughts. His squad had been part of 5th Company, but some time ago Curze had ordered that Squad Trueze be Sevatar's own squad for discretionary missions. Command changed, and Squad Trueze now answered only to the Prince of Crows and the Dark King. They were, in effect, the most powerful six-man squad in the Legion. Over time a deep friendship had developed between the First Captain and the sombre, dark-haired sergeant. So when Trueze spoke, Jago listened, as he knew it was truth and not just what he wanted to hear.

"He is angry, more angry than I remember ever seeing him. He thought the Emperor, curse his name, had finally accepted him for what he was. Had given him a position of authority as creator of the Arbites. But now... now he wants more than revenge; my fear, Jago, is that the Night Haunter is the one in command now."

Sevatar nodded and rubbed his jaw. "I was thinking the same." He rested a hand on the sergeant's shoulder. "Look after the 3rd Captain and take care of yourselves down there; we have suffered enough grief the last few weeks. If the Primarch was to lose one he sees as almost his own son, then I dare not want to think what madness would be unleashed."

"Same goes to you, Jago; we are both close to the Primarch, for he knows we will never lead him false, but there are those, like Sahaal, who covet the First Captaincy..."

Sevatar let a dry smile cross his face. "I know, as does the Primarch. Ave Dominus Nox."

"The Emperor's Children will know that we have come for them." Trueze bowed his head and left the First Captain to his thoughts.

* * *

Carenn was no longer the beautiful world it had been. As the Night Lords made their way through the war-damaged streets, they saw bodies scattered where they fell. Ultramarine dead lay alongside fallen Emperor's Children, as well as civilians. Battle-Brother Senyena knelt beside a dead Emperor's Child, his helm telling him that this was Battle Brother Escanas, 19th Company.

It didn't bother him that the Astarte was dead; what bothered him was what had been done to him. Calling over Apothecary Resik, he waited until the Astarte had finished analysing the body, then called the Captain and Sergeant over. He pointed at the bodies, drawing attention to the Emperor's Child.

"What in the name of night happened to him?" Uvensa wondered, his voice sounding harsher than it was through his helm grille.

"I would have to conduct a full autopsy, Brother-Captain." Resik got to his feet. "But from what I have seen, he has had alterations done to his gene seed that have resulted in the spinal growths from his mouth and the lizard-like neck sheath."

"Who would do such a thing?" Uvensa scowled, sickened by the abomination before him.

Of course he had heard rumours that some of the other Imperial Legions had gravitated towards various aspects of the Warp powers. But this... this was something else entirely; this was breaking even the betrayer Emperor's laws.

"I had heard that Fabius Bile, Chief Apothecary of the Third, was trying to unlock the secrets to the gene-coding of the Primarchs." Resik shook his head and stepped away from the body. "I met him a few times. He was obsessed with unlocking the Emperor's secrets and the secrets of a Primarch's creation."

"Do you think he has found it?" Trueze asked, staring in disgust at the dead Escanas.

He did have spines coming from his mouth, and his neck was indeed like a lizard's sheath, scales alongside his neck and throat. As the sergeant's gaze moved over the dead, stinking corpse, he saw that the hands were changing too, or rather _had been_ changing into reptilian hands. It looked like he had ripped out the throat of the Ultramarine who was identified as Battle Brother Instansius of the 21st Company. That might not have killed him, but the tearing at the chest and what remained of his hearts certainly did.

"I will not know unless I have your permission to take the body back to the _Nightfall_ and run tests."

Uvensa glanced at the sergeant. "I think that would be a good idea, Trueze; the Primarch will want to know what has been going on."

"Yes, Captain, he will. Very well, Jastan, arrange for the body to be taken back to the _Nightfall_ , but give us your opinion, even if it is a guess."

"Then yes, I think Bile has found a way to subvert Astarte gene-seed."

"Are you sure that it was him? Could it not have been meddling with the creatures of the warp?" the captain asked.

"I cannot be certain, Brother-Captain, but I believe so. Every Apothecary in the Legiones Astartes knows how driven Fabius Bile is and how he subverts medical science to get what he wants. Yes, we are warriors and fight alongside our brothers on the field, but we are also medics, and we talk to each other. But such things as trying to unlock the gene-coded secrets of the Primarchs, or changing how the Astartes gene-seed works... that is against all we have avowed."

Uvensa nodded and motioned with his head. "Move on"

The Squad moved past the bodies, Resik arranging a pick up of the Emperor's Child's body. He ignored the dead Ultramarine; let the sons of Gulliman collect their own dead. They headed towards the main centre of the city. Here the destruction was truly noticeable. A dog barked in the distance, followed by a whining bark, looking for a master or mistress that would never answer. It would either starve or go feral. It all surprised Trueze: Guilliman had never liked hive worlds. They were ugly, he had said, a breeding centre for all manners of criminals and under-hive vermin. Like he would know! He should have spent his childhood on Nostramo, he would have known then what under-hive vermin and criminals were like.

Thinking of his dead home world made his heart ache. Like all his brothers, the death of Nostramo had cut a piece away from themselves, something that could never be retrieved. He, like his father and his brothers, no longer cared what the Emperor wanted, nor what the Warmaster did. This was revenge, and it would be done the way that the Night Lords always did - with great pain and trauma to those concerned.

He cared little for the dead Ultramarines. They had always been held up as a Legion to be lauded, so perfect in their construction and doctrine. Everything was strict on how they did things, and they had been one of the Emperor's favourite Legions. But as much as he disliked the sons of Guilliman, he detested the Emperor's Children more.

Moreso when Fulgrim tricked their father into revealing his then-secret, about his debilitating precognition, Curze had trusted Fulgrim at that point, but when the Phoenician went and told the other Primarchs, Dorn especially, it all changed. Trueze had seen the hurt his father felt, even if he did not show it. Those belladonnas thought they were something special because they and they were alone were allowed to bear the Imperial Eagle on their chests.

Trueze stopped as something dropped onto his boots. Then again, looking closer, he realised it was blood, and looking up, even he stepped back. Hanging above him, three spikes of a ruined building's flooring erupting through his chest, neck, and groin, was the dead body of Erikon Gaius, Captain, 21st Company, Second Chapter, XIII Legion Astartes.

For the moment words failed him, not at the body, but at the expression on the dead captain's face. That would remain with him for the rest of his life.

 **++Take him down++** he ordered and, for the first time, he began to wonder just what the Emperor's Children were becoming.

* * *

The _Pride Of The Empero_ r had changed more than when he had last noticed, not that Lucius took much notice of what went on around him nowadays. He heard the screams of the remembrancers; some of them had embraced the new patron of Fulgrim's sons and were fulfilling their every desire and perversion, while other screams were not so pleasure-filled. As he passed the sparring chambers of the 21st, he saw Ruen and one of the young boys they had taken from Carenn. Judging by the dead bodies that littered the floor, Ruen had become fed up with torturing remembrancers and was now starting on children.

It gave Lucius a thrill - the innocence of youth, untainted, untouched - but then, quick as a flash, he recalled the Phoenician's orders. The young were not to be harmed, for they were the future of the Legion.

 **"RUEN!"** he barked.

The Captain of the 21st either didn't hear him above the wailing or ignored him. Lucius thought it was more the latter, and whilst he did not want to interrupt Ruen's game, he had just gotten his Captain's laurels back, and had no intentions of being cast into the lowly ranks again. Marching the distance between the door and the other captain in the time it took a human to unzip their fly, Lucius grabbed the terrified child. Calling for his own Sergeant Enchaseon, he told him to take all the boys back to their quarters and post a guard so that they remained unharmed.

"You dare!" Ruen got up, his half-naked body glistening with sweat. The heady smell of intoxication by killing surrounded him like an aura.

Lucius took a long look at his fellow captain. He hadn't just killed the remembrancers, he had skinned them; beside his feet were the skins of the half a dozen humans he had butchered. Interesting, but no defense.

 **"YOU DARE COME INTO MY CHAMBERS AND TAKE WHAT IS MINE!"** Ruen leant into Lucius face.

Lucius let the leer of contempt cross his face. He tired of killing humans, it was no real sport, but to kill another Astarte... well, that had given him a jolt that no drug would ever compare to. It didn't matter to Lucius if it was one of Horus's dogs or his own brothers.

"I dare, Ruen," Lucius calmly said. "The Primarch said all children were to be left alone. He wants the boys to be the future of the Legion while the girls are to become some sort of new martial sisterhood." Lucius arched an eyebrow. "Stop or not, it is your choice... but it will be more fun if you refuse."

Ruen ran his cold, hard gaze over Lucius. He had been handsome once; now, deep cuts criss-crossed his face and body, not to mention the broken nose that Garviel Loken had given him once. Lucius had been so vain, but now that vanity was dedicated to his swordplay. Second only to the Primarch, he had no equal amongst the battle-captains and brothers. Even Eidolon had sparred with Lucius and lost.

"Tell me, Lucius, do you agree with the Primarch's new direction? Or do you believe our way forward is the path of pleasure and pain?" Ruen stepped back and sat down. Picking up a blood-soaked piece of back skin, he studied it, closing his eyes as the stench of death revitalised the death scenes that had played around him that afternoon.

Lucius didn't answer. Some more ambitious brothers would do anything to advance themselves. Indeed, being Captain of the 21st was an honour; being Captain of the 13th was a step closer to the higher ranks. Now Saul Tarvitz was dead. It meant nothing to Lucius; it meant nothing to him that he had killed his only close friend. By comparison, Ruen... well, it sufficed to be said that he was not stupid enough to trust Ruen with anything. Ruen was ambitious, there was no secret about that, but if he was after Lucius's position then he had made a mistake.

"What are you getting at?"

"You know he has named Solomon Demeter as the new First Captain, don't you?"

"So? It is his right and Demeter was next in line," Lucius answered guardedly.

It was true, Lucius had sneered at the news that the "up the centre" idiot was now the First Captain. But a change had come over Demeter. He was different now, and power radiated into him like a moth to a flame. The gods of war had a new champion, and suddenly Lucius was not so certain that Demeter was the idiot he had taken him for.

"But Demeter? Vairosean would have made a better First Captain." Ruen sat forward. "The Primarch is misguided and needs to be shown the error of his judgment."

"Shut your mouth, fool," Lucius hissed.

"No one can hear me, Lucius, we are alone,"

"We are never alone on this ship, not anymore. The Warp listens, and I will not be associated with your schemes."

Ruen laughed, though it was a long and ugly sound. "Lucius, you are the biggest schemer of us all. You know I am right, you know that Fulgrim will not fully embrace She Who Must Be Obeyed."

Lucius raised his hands and walked out of the room. "Talk yourself into censure if you want, but I am not listening to this. If you want to end up like Verona, then carry on."

Lucius left the chambers and continued with his walk, unaware that the entire conversation had been recorded. Sergeant Harx was one of the lower sergeants of Ruen's company, but this... this would put him up where he belonged. With a stone face, he made his way towards the Phoenician's chambers.

* * *

Fulgrim listened as Harx told him what he had overheard. Although his outward look was benevolent, a father patiently listening to a loyal son, inside he was seething.

 _So, Ruen wants to move against me, does he? Well, let us see how deep this goes,_ he thought to himself. He dismissed the sergeant and told him to let him know if his captain had other ideas along this line he was taking.

He glanced over his shoulder once the sergeant had left to see Demeter and Vespasian step from the shadows. They had heard everything. He poured some wine and handed them each a glass. Lately, Eidolon was being left out of these private meetings. Fulgrim did not trust his former friend, not like he trusted these two. Proud, strong Solomon Demeter, whom he had shown the wonders of what lay beyond and had unleashed a skill that had long since been dormant within him, who had a piece of his heart in Slaanesh's crustacean hands but not enough to overcome his love for his father. And wise, loyal, and trustworthy, utterly perfectionist in every theater of war, Vespasian., a confidant privy to Fulgrim's innermost thoughts and emotions. He had stood beside his father and agreed that, in order to build anew, they must first destroy. Like his father, both Demeter and Vespasian keenly felt the betrayal of both Kaesoron and Vairosean, though Fulgrim did not know if anything could compare to the depths of his own sorrow.

"So Ruen is making a play for power." Solomon allowed himself a sly smile. "He always was ambitious , my liege."

"Oh, I applaud ambition, as you well know." Fulgrim stood before one of Serena D'Angelus's last paintings preceding her insanity. He looked at it for a moment, then moved onto the one picture he had kept of his brother Horus. It was a wonderfully taken pict of Luna Wolves taking their Oath of Moment from their father. The Mournival. He had thought about putting it away, but such was the calibre of skill and art this Keeler woman had shown... well, picts like this were too rare to hide for causes so pedestrian as civil war.

"This is how I want things to be." He motioned to the pict with his goblet. "My sons kneeling before me, utterly convinced in their love for me and no other. Horus's sons have a depth of loyalty to him that shames other Legions and, at the moment, shames me, for my legion is one of snakes and daggers."

Demeter sipped his wine and looked into the red liquid. "What is your will, father?"

"You know that Ruen is planning something. With what I have told Harx, we are one step ahead of him. I am wary of Lucius, though; he has begun to pursue the favour of the Dark Prince, and that is disturbing to say the least."

"There are those who will follow Lucius," Vespasian warned. "With his ritual scarring and his charisma he will be a strong leader."

"Yes, and if he was not so damn arrogant then..." Fulgrim shook his head. His temper was already frayed, as the depth of some of his sons' ambitions only now came to light in his mind. "Do we know which companies are totally loyal to me, rather than being bound to Slaanesh above all else?"

"The majority of the Emperors Children are loyal to you, father. The primary exceptions are the 13th, the 21st the 43rd, and the 57th." Vespasian set his goblet down. "They are, when the reckoning comes, more likely to either listen to their captains or kill them and advance themselves. But the way things stand, this total may yet rise."  
 **  
"I will not have a Legion of power seekers!"** Fulgrim roared "This is **my** Legion, **my** Genes flow through each and every one of their veins, and this is how those dogs repay me? By placing this god-goddess above me." He paced his chambers like a caged tiger, "I will see it purged to bring about its perfection." At last, he stopped pacing and calmed himself. "Have Ruen... no, call a meeting of the Brotherhood of the Phoenix." Fulgrim allowed a grim smile to cross his lips. "I will humiliate Ruen for what he tried to do."

"And Eidolon?" Vespasian asked. "He is becoming a little put out that he does not attend you."

"Leave that to me."

Fulgrim turned with a flourish, his magnificent cape swirling around him, and picked up the sword that had been crafted for him by his brother Ferrus. It had been too long since he last wielded this magnificent weapon. _Fireblade_ had been gifted to him by his closest brother, one whom he was proud to call such. Ferrus had given him _Fireblade_ in honour of a duel that neither Primarch won, such was the skill of the weapons they had crafted, and in return Fulgrim had given Ferrus _Forgebreaker_ , a great hammer that Ferrus still carried with him. Fulgrim dismissed Demeter and Vespasian and once more returned to looking at the stars outside his window.

He missed Ferrus, deeply. Perhaps when he had finished what he had to do here, he would go to Mars and see how his brother was doing, as the new Lord of Mars. Ferrus had done well, as had his Iron Hands, but if some of the rumours were true, than Ferrus had changed, for having to cull a third of his Legion - not to mention his beloved son Gabriel Santar - had taken its toll on the Primarch. Fulgrim remembered Ferrus's despair when they had talked a year earlier... It mattered not. Fulgrim would be there to listen and offer advice if needed. Ferrus was not as handsome as Fulgrim, not by any stretch of the imagination, but his skill and his personality made Fulgrim love him more. Yes, when he had dealt with this blasted, supposedly perfect empire, as well as the elements in his Legion that needed to be dealt with, he would go to Mars and see his brother.

And perhaps in the company of a brutally honest Primarch, Fulgrim would find what it was he felt he was losing.

* * *

Squad Trueze made their way through the ruins of the city, Uvensa surveying the scene with a practised eye. There had been no perfect war here; this had been a brawl. The Ultramarines had tried to persecute the battle as they knew how but, judging by the bodies laying around, they had not been able to.

He looked around him as Battle-Brother Perod joined his side. "Captain, something bothering you?"

"The Emperor's Children are almost like the Ultramarines in how they persecute a battle. Indeed, perfection through battle is one of the goals they want to attain. Damn it, Fulgrim is known for meticulous planning, enough to rival the Ultimate Warrior and the Lion themselves."

"Well, looking at this carnage, sir, I wouldn't believe it."

"That's just it, Enor: this is not how the battle should have been. This, this looks like the aftermath of one of Angron's rampages." Uvensa shook his head. "It's almost as if the Ultramarines were unable to cope with what was coming at them, something that defied all they knew about warfare."

"With all due respect, sir, I for one am glad to see the mighty Ultramarines brought so low. Still." Perod looked around him. "This is overkill by even the Phoenician's standards."

The Captain said nothing. As a Night Lord he did not care much for the other legions, but as a warrior, he respected both the Ultramarines and the Emperor's Children... or _had_ respected them, at least. They carried on and found the bodies of the populace and those of the government that had not escaped the carnage. Trueze hissed in disgust at the positions some of the bodies were arranged in, almost like some offering to a god and all in a perversion of art. He was no artist and he had no love for the finer things in life, but he was not ignorant: whoever had done this had arranged the bodies in all manners of positions from the sexual to the inhuman.

There were corpses with limbs shoved inside another, there were contorted figures with grins stitched onto their faces, there were several women who were arranged to look like prostitutes... he had seen his fair share of them on Nostramo. Even the coming of the Night Haunter had not stopped their trade; they had just taken it underground. It was the oldest profession in the universe, some said. As a young teenager he had spent time in prostitutes' company; some of them had been riddled with diseases, others hyped up on drugs. Yes, he had experienced women before he became a fully grown man and an Astarte, but even so, this was far over the top of what they ever did.

 **++Reminds me of Madam Genar's place++** Brother Ausun joined his sergeant's side. **++She fed us, gave us a bed for the night, and for running errands we got a girl, remember Mikhail?++**

He nodded. Most of the Legion were aware that as a boy he had aided the Night Haunter, the man that had saved him from an abusive mother and father and had taken him to a place of relative shelter. When the Night Haunter retreated to his lair for rest and planning, Mikhail would sometimes be his eyes and his ears and, when he was ready, his right arm.

But most of the time he could not accompany the Night Haunter, and these days he spent with his friends, Taros Ausun among them; so yes, he recalled the kindly madam of the known whore house. But it had been nothing like this; the women were inventive, but... this was not inventiveness, not truly sensuality at all. This was something Trueze struggled to describe.

 **++This was nothing like her house, she kept a clean establishment++** Trueze rumbled. **++No human can possibly do these things, no matter how... flexible they might be. This is a warning. We are not alone here, Taros. Have everyone be on alert, watch for anything or anyone. I doubt there are many humans here.++**

 **++As you order, brother++**

 **++Brother-Captain, a moment my lord, you may wish to see this++** Trueze voxed the Captain and waited.

When Uvensa came over he didn't bother to hide his disgust. He too was no stranger to women, as far as Trueze recalled. He walked around the scene, considering it. This was torture, clearly, yet there was something more to it, some deep perversity to which the sexual tinge served only as a mask. Torture, for the Night Lords, was a means to an end; this had been more than that. To disturb Astartes of the Eighth truly took something special, something, Uvensa suspected, otherworldly.

Before he could complete that thought, out of nowhere, a squad of Emperor's Children identified as Squad Tarson, 37th Company, appeared out of the shadows. But they weren't like any Emperor's Children the Night Lords had seen before. Their mouths were distorted past the point of anything remotely human. A couple of them had shaved their heads and had intricate tattoos that hurt even Trueze's eyes to look at. Two other had developed a feminine body on one half of their own. One, identified as Battle Brother Ingas, had an elongated neck and nails.

"Cousins of the noble Night Lords." Tarson sounded bored and was smoking something particularly pungent. "Have you come to join us in our hunt?"

"Abominations," Brother Garak hissed and readied his bolter. The captain raised his hands, wanting to keep tempers in check and remembering that their father wanted one alive. It didn't matter which, but one of them had to be kept alive.

"Are you Emperor's Children so fallen from grace that you cast aside all that you are, including not only humanity but also respect for a Captain?" Uvensa snarled.

"Not my captain." Tarson's voice was as distorted as his appearance.

Trueze stepped forward and, reversing the grip of his chainsword, he brought it down on the back of the opposing sergeant's back, forcing him to his knees. The other members of the squad began to laugh; they were not bothered by their sergeants humiliation, but rather found it hilarious.

"You will show the brother-captain respect, dog," he snarled, his brothers eyeing their cousins with unconcealed disgust and contempt.

Tarson raised his head and looked at Trueze."Ah, the one they call the Justicar. The Night Haunter's personal whipping boy... tell me, cousin, do you service your father in other ways?"

Trueze raised his fist and was about to pummel his opposite number into next year when the captain stepped between them and shook his head. "This will be dealt with later, Mikhail. What happened here?"

"We trod on the Ultramarines' toes is what happened," brother (or maybe sister would have been a better word?) Ignaria cooed. "We taught them that their way is flawed, as is yours."

"Oh yes," his twin brother Lamar agreed. "Midnight clad and all that, what's that supposed to mean anyway? But then what would one expect from the savages of Nostramo..."

Garak, incensed at the insult to his sergeant, annoyed at the captain's interference, and unable to suffer any more of these twisted perversions, fired his bolter, hitting Lamar in the chest. The Night Lord could only stare as Lamar let out a sigh that sounded more like pleasure than pain. He stared at the hole where the shell had pierced him and cocked his head.

"That was mildly exciting, my turn." He opened his vocal chords and all the Night Lords backed away as their audio senses were disrupted by a scream that threatened to blow their eardrums apart. Garak sank to his knees and let a roar of pain go. Astartes felt no fear, and they felt little pain, for their bodies would compensate instantly, but Garak's body did not get the chance.

Lamar focused his sonic scream on Garak. Before the other Night Lords' horrified eyes, Garak's body shuddered. Then, his head exploded in a welter of brain and bone. Lamar took a deep intake of breath as the Night Lord died. "Exquisite," he sighed.

With a roar, the remaining Night Lords opened fire. Trueze moved his chainblades around as if they were an extension of himself. He decapitated Lamar on the backstroke and Ignaria lost his arm on the return stroke.

The Night Lords were not about to lose another brother to this madness but, before they could reload, Tarson rammed his lightning sword through Asun's stomach and ripped up, cutting the Night Lord in half.

Uvensa grabbed the laughing sergeant and slammed him into the far wall. He kept banging Tarson's head, incensed by the pleads of 'more, please, more' from the degenerate's mouth, and was grateful when he finally shut up and faded into oblivion.

By the time the firefight was over three Emperor's Children were dead, and the other three were wounded. Two more Night Lords were dead and two were seriously injured. But it was obvious that the Emperor's Children had taken the same road as the Word Bearers. They had made plots with daemons, and they would die.


	6. Chapter Four

Calth.

She was more than merely a verdant agri-world, feeding neighboring planets and the Astartes of the Ultramarines. Indeed, she was a jewel in the crown of Gulliman's empire. Many Ultramarine recruits came from Calth, and more joined the Imperial Army regiments raised from the world. It had been hoped that, by the the end of the Crusade, a greater space port would be constructed as well as an sub-orbital ring, putting Calth on par with Konor, Iax, Occluda, Saramanth, and Macragge itself as a master world of Ultramar.

Now, however, it was the planet that had to hold against the approaching Emperor's Children. Gage was adamant that not one Emperor's Child would proceed onto Macragge, and Calth stood as the last wall against them. He turned to the Celestial Lions' Chapter Master and brought a holomap up. They both studied it and Kaesoron opted for guarding the spaceport. He knew that some of his brothers would make for the port, aiming to destabilise it and take it for themselves. Gage nodded - the theoretical was solid.

They had a few days yet. Five, maybe, but no more than that. For the moment he thanks Fulgrim's vanity. He had called his senior captains, all still mourning the loss of the 21st and Erikon Gaius. The Chapter Master had vowed that once Fulgrim's perverted sons had been kicked back into the Warp, he would recover every Ultramarine that had fallen in the defence of Carenn.

Other enemies, too, gathered. Gage had no doubt that the Vespid would make a claim on the planets of the Outer Sphere, and when this was over, he would have to see about preventing that. But for now, Calth was his universe.

With the companies he had at his disposal, the Imperial Army units, a couple of Titans and the entire Calth PDF... he would have to run theoreticals, spend his time ensuring that he had every area and possible scenario worked out in his head. He had played this strategy game with the Primarch often enough; they would stand around his holoboard and run simulated scenarios. Yet it was never against Astartes, not before this war. Roboute had been certain that, at worst, Imperial Army units might turn traitor. Not his own father.

And this was different even to fighting Astartes. He could recall with perfect clarity the tactics used but, as proven on Carenn, standard tactics seemed to stumble against the Emperor's Children, because of their aid from the Warp and because of their sheer lack of sensibilities. Even now, he heard that some of the people that had been rescued from Carenn were so traumatised by what they had seen that they might never recover. He wasn't sure himself, sometimes, if what he had seen the Third Legion do was correct or just some mass hallucination brought on by hysteria. He shook his head, though: no, Astartes were not subject to mass hysteria, and his eyes had seen true. He ran a gauntlet hand down his face; he had not shaved since leaving Carenn, and the stubble had now formed a rough, unkempt beard.

Since Nikaea had gone out of the window and those brothers with psychic powers were allowed to serve as they should, he had that back in his ball court. The Ultimate Warrior had agreed with Horus and the others on that. When Angron had broken Magnus's back, and Lorgar had started using his Librarians, they too returned to allowing their sons to use what had been given them - in the Ultramarines' and Raven Guard's case officially, in the other Legions still on a somewhat ad hoc basis. It was to still be moderated, and they were watched by the Chaplains of the Legions, but after what he had seen had become of the Emperor's Children, Gage knew he would need the Ultramarine psykers.

He was waiting for them now: on the journey from Carenn to Calth, he had ordered that all Librarians had to undergo strict testing and training once more. They had served for years as battle-brothers and now... now, they had to reopen that which they had closed off. The Chaplains had been present and ensured that any problems were dealt with accordingly. He had been relieved to discover that, apart from serious migraines, there had been no sign of taint. Their souls were hardened and guarded against the depravity of the Emperor's Children. Still, even Marius knew that sometimes that was not enough, and he hoped that whatever chants or protections they used would keep them from the temptations of whatever lived in the warp.

He walked outside to see the Celestial Lions going over their war gear. He felt sorrow for them, but pride, pride that the famous Lion of Chemos himself had seen the error of his father's ways, that he had accepted, no matter how hard it had been to reconcile the truth with what his heart was telling him, that this was the way to do things.

They had managed to retrieve some of the gene-seed from their fallen brothers, and for now it was being held in storage aboard the _Macragge's_ _Honour_. He felt humbled as he saw Ancient Rylanor towering over his brothers. He had read about Rylanor; even Guilliman had held him as an example of a mighty warrior and true to his path. It was said that you could not lie to the ancient, for he would sense a lie or a deception as soon as it was spoken. Whatever the mystique surrounding him, he was an honoured brother and venerated by the Celestial Lions as an example of what their Legion had been once.

He looked to the heavens, then stopped. Every Astarte in the Forward Operations stopped; without being commanded, in divided ranks, they all moved to one knee. Some of the humans that were attending their Astarte masters began to weep. What greeted them was silence at first, then, over the rise, came the sound of howls and singing in the harsh tongue of Fenris.

But that wasn't what had made them fall to one knee or weep, The giant that stood at the head of his army looked down upon the gathered defenders and then made his way forwards until he was standing before the kneeling Chapter Master.

"Rise, Chapter Master, all of you, honour has been received and respect given. We have come to aid you."

Marius Gage looked up into the strong, lupine features of the Wolf King and almost wept for joy. His hails had been answered, and how.

"Welcome to Calth, my lord." He bowed his head. "I am honoured you answered my call for aid."

"How could I not, Marius? Now I want to know all that has happened... and where is the Lion of Chemos? I would hear it from his lips."

"I am here, my lord." Kaesoron joined the Chapter Master's side and bowed low.

With a nod, the primarch ordered Bjorn and Freya to accompany him and they followed the other two Astartes. Russ paused and took a look around him, as if sensing something that no one else could. He frowned a little, then moved into the command room.

* * *

 _The Eidolon_ translated into the Sol System and made its final approach to Terra. It was still not smooth sailing, for every part of Terra's home system had defences that, should the wrong codes be sent, would blow you out of the void before you had a moment to breathe.

Vairosean watched the approach carefully. They had passed the Black Templars patrolling the outer reaches of the system, and after a few hours they had began to approach Mars. How much the red planet had changed! Its dockyards were nothing different, but the vessels that surrounded it caught his attention. Every single Mechanicum vessel now not only bore the skull encased in a cog, but the Iron Hand motif, placed almost as if it had merged into the skull. The Mechanicum now belonged to Ferrus Manus.

In attendance, and dwarfing every vessel that buzzed around the red planet, was the mighty flagship the _Fist of Iron_ , standing stalwart and reminding every vessel that came close to the mother of all forge worlds that, should they refuse to adhere to the rules of the Gorgon and his sons, they would never approach Mars, nor would they approach any other planet ever again. The Iron Hands reminded Marius of the Iron Warriors; both had more of an affinity to the Mechanicum than any other of the Legions. The difference was that, whereas the sons of Perturabo did not feel revulsion at their human flesh and considered a merging between flesh and cybernetics a harmonious bonding, the Iron Hands felt their flesh made them weak. Indeed, from what little he knew about their rituals and traditions, their neophytes had their left hands removed and replaced with a cybernetic.

None understood the Iron Hands or their Primarch better than his own father, and for a moment he thought about diverting to Mars to speak with the mighty father of the Iron Hands. He dismissed it quickly. To do so would have put him in danger. The Gorgon allowed none to speak ill of his favoured brother, and he certainly would not allow a Captain, even one as vaunted as the 3rd Captain, blaspheme against his brother.

He rubbed his brow as the approach to Terra began and caught sight of his reflection in the mirrored panelling of his frigate. It had taken him days to finish his armour, but when he did, he was proud of the work he had done, as had all his brothers. The armour was silver, a perfect silver that was lined with a deep red. The Heraldry was his own personal heraldry, a sword grasped in the claws of the Imperial Eagle.

He was not ashamed to admit that, as he demolished the Emperor's Children colours and heraldry, he had wept. This was the way of things now. Like the former First Captain, he would not be able to return to the fold. Not with his brothers turning their back on the Emperor for a deity that demanded they give in to excesses best left for the humans.

"Approaching frigate, state your name, rank, and Legion."

The sound of another voice almost made Vairosean jump out of his seat; things had been so quiet. Clearing his throat, he kept his voice steady and level.

"This is Marius Vairosean, formally the 3rd Captain of the Emperor's Children, commander of the _Eidolon_ , now Chapter Master of the Emperor's Blades."

There was a long silence as the voice on flight control digested this information. No one on the Frigate said a word, but the mood changed as the _Phalanx_ came into view blocking their path. It was bigger than it was in Vairosean's memories - not new construction, though there was some of that, but the simple issue of even Astarte memory being unable to contain its grandeur.

"Marius?" The scene changed, and the visage of Captain Halbrecht replaced the _Phalanx_. "What in the name of Terra is going on?"

"Not here, Halbrecht, I need to speak to the Emperor."

"No one sees the Emperor without his express summoning." The Imperial Fist, one of Dorn's inner circle, arched an eyebrow. "You know this, Marius."

"Come aboard my friend, there is something I need to tell you that may alter that."

Halbrecht was silent for some time; then, eventually, he nodded. In the absence of his father, the duty was his. He was most curious about the change in armour and heraldry that his friend wore. "I shall be aboard imminently, and this had better be good, my friend, or the only person you and your crew will be seeing will be Lord Dorn when he conducts your court martial."

Marius inclined his head and rose from his seat. "I assure you, Halbrecht, I am not one for flights of fancy. If I did not believe this was serious I would not be wearing different colours, sporting my own heraldry, and demanding to see the Emperor."

Halbrecht did not look convinced, but for the sake of their friendship, he was prepared to hear Vairosean out. Had it been Sigismund there might have been no offer of parley; for this fortune, Vairosean was eternally grateful.

* * *

The Wolf King listened as Kaesoron once again went over what had become of the Emperor's Children. On some parts he interrupted and asked Julius to go over a point again, then would listen as he continued. When the tale was over, the Wolf King did not know whether to laugh or rage at such a story.

But then, the ghosts of Adonnas and Charion still, on occasions, kept him awake at night, ever since they had seemingly been proven correct. He still had trouble digesting everything that had happened, everything that was still happening, and he wondered if this was some mad illusion. Russ still had trouble getting his head round how his father, worshipped by all his sons with one or two exceptions, could allow such a thing. Maybe his father was suffering from a malady that had driven him to flip the Great Crusade on its head and declare that gods existed.

He shook his head clear of those thoughts. True, he was still haunted by the image of Angron breaking Magnus's back and destroying Prospero; he could, in another world, have found himself in Angron's place, after all. He was still uneasy around psykers, but he had grown a bond with Magnus, whom he now recognized he had underestimated; and when he was able, he had taken some Thousand Sons onto his vessels, so they could both recruit and keep fighting the galactic war. It would be a long while before they could truly rejoin the fight against the Imperial forces, but the Thousand Sons were not out of the war.

"So, Fulgrim is planning to attack the realm of Ultramar?" Bjorn asked. "Why them? If anyone was going to do that, I would have thought it would have been Lorgar, after Monarchia."

"My Father sees Ultramar as an example of a perfect empire, all its inhabitants having a role to play in the greater turning wheel of the Imperium. He wants Chemos to be like it, every person having a place of value, creating things of beauty as well as working towards the perfect Imperium," Julius explained. "Somehow that admiration has turned to hatred. I do not know if Lorgar had a hand in this, but since Laeran the Phoenician has changed, moreso since that damned sword came into his possession."

"What sword?" Marius asked.

"There was a magnificent sword in the xeno temple we fought to. Father gave it to the Emperor, curse his name, as a gift. Some time later he gave it back to Fulgrim. Perhaps that was when the changes began... who knows? He ordered, for instance, that Bile continue his work on unlocking the theory behind the Primarchs' creation, ordered him to start altering his legion to reach perfection quicker than we should have." Julius thought of Demeter and shook his head. "Perhaps those enhancements are what created the monsters you see on Carenn."

"So the sword is what? Bewitched?" Bjorn asked.

"There was something in it, that's for certain, cousin," Julius agreed. "It never dulls, its blade flawless in design, its edge keener than any blade I have ever known, even keener than Fireblade, and Ferrus Manus does not create mediocre weapons"

"We could break the blade, break the enchantment and bring Fulgrim to his senses," Gage mused.

Julius shook his head. "It's too late for that. Whatever lives in that sword could be more dangerous... we had a remembrancer who committed murder and was executed by Lucius, when she died all manners of creatures were released onto the _Pride of the Emperor_." Julius shuddered at the memory. "But even if there was something in the sword, the Emperor would have removed it. No, what doomed the Legion was neither Fabius nor the blade. It was the worship of pleasure and pain, of a god of the Warp whose name I will not speak. It drove my brothers to ever higher rates of pursuing their desires, until it blocked out all else... and Fulgrim encouraged that cult.

"But I think that Fulgrim is not loyal only to that deity, that he respects both it and the Emperor, but worships neither. I know not what he wants for the Legion, but I do not think it is this which they have become. My father is lost, but he wants perfection in his sons, not ugliness. I suspect that he is lost to the Emperor at the moment, until he rebuilds what he has lost, and until he ensures that my former brothers' loyalty is to him first. Beyond that, I do not know. But the Legion... its doom was daemonic excess."

Russ rubbed his jaw and was silent for a long time. When he spoke, it was at the Ultramarine Chapter Master he looked. "With Julius here, at least we have an advantage in predicting how they will land and make battle."

"With due respect, my lord," Julius carefully spoke, "that has all changed."

"Yes but you yourself said they war as they always have in the opening stages, until they get...crazed with whatever they have become." Julius nodded. "That gives us the advantage - no amount of tactical brilliance is worth predictability. I will deploy my sons...here, here and here." He tapped the holomap. "They are the most densely populated areas. Bjorn, you will cover the farmlands with that part of Tra which is here. I will accompany the Celestial Lions with the Wolf Guard."

"Why?" Bjorn asked, hurt that his father did not want him by his side as he always was.

"Because Fulgrim will opt for destroying the farms, cutting off the food supply, I would if I were him, as would Horus and anyone else," Russ told him. The Wolf King chuckled a little, and it was not a pleasant sound. "Don't worry, my friend, you'll see your share of fighting. I suspect that Fulgrim himself will come for Julius, though, and I should be the one to meet the Phoenician."

"We will cover the barracks and the roads leading to the government plaza," Gage said. "We have already advised the Governor to evacuate, but they are not willing to leave." He added the last part with no small amount of pride.

As it would have been on Fenris, when war came, the populace, civilian or military, would not lie in their beds waiting to die. They would fight to the death to save their home. They were, after all, citizens of Ultramar, something they would not discard so easily, especially when they knew that should Calth fall, Macragge would be next.

"We are, however, ensuring that children and infants are taken to the old underground caverns with their mothers and a detachment of the Calth Defence Force, Squad Andeaus, and Squad Personas. If what Julius says comes to pass, our children are not safe."

"Did I miss something?" Bjorn asked.

"Fulgrim no longer wants to only recruit from Chemos, if he is ever going to do so again. He is going to take the young from each world he conquers and turn them into Emperor's Children."

"In that case, better have a squad of Celestial Lions and two of our squads join them," Russ muttered. "Bjorn, have Squad Fenyr and Squad Khejir join them... Julius?"

"I will have Squad Femara, our best Devastators, join them," Julius affirmed. "As you say, Marius, the children must be protected at all costs."

"Has your lord been informed?" Russ asked Gage.

"I have sent word to him, but I do not know if he will get back in time as I do not know where he is."

"What is he doing?"

"Trying to save the Imperium," Marius almost whispered.

Russ nodded. He had had his conversation with Gulliman months ago. There was no love lost between Russ and Horus, never had been: Leman respected Horus as a warrior, but he hadn't been thrilled at the ascension of Horus to Warmaster, on the basis that none of the Primarchs deserved that. But he was close to Guilliman, in some ways envying the Battle-King; and he had promised Roboute that, if he was needed, he would back him in the building of Imperium Secundus. But as he had told Roboute, he would not rebel against Horus: he was at this moment in time the leader of the renegade forces against the Emperor and their murderous brothers. As barbaric as he was seen to be, even he knew that to go against Horus and his allies now would cause a schism that would play into the hands of the Emperor.

And none of them, no matter what their differences, wanted that.

* * *

Halbrecht met Marius in his own strategium. The Imperial Fist waited until his escort had left, but the two battle brothers with him remained close by their commander. The two captains clasped wrists, then stepped back.

"Well?" The Imperial Fist asked in a no-nonsense tone of voice.

Vairosean could understand that. With what he had said and what the Imperial Fist could see, by all accounts, this seemed to be treason. It was unheard-of - a captain going his own way and defying his Primarch. But this was serious, and he hoped that Halbrecht would agree and get him an audience with their grandfather.

So patiently, the former 3rd Captain of the Emperor's Children recalled all that had happened to his Legion and his father. By the time he had finished, some two hours later, the Imperial Fist was staring at him like he was mad.

"You want to tell the Emperor that one of his closest sons, the only son he allows to wear his own personal heraldry across his chest, has betrayed him. Vairosean, are you insane? He would never believe such a thing!"

"I do not lie, cousin, I speak only the truth. Kaesoron has already abandoned the Emperor and the Phoenician both and thrown his lot in with Horus. I will never betray the Emperor. It does not make me feel any better that I had to fight through my own company with only a few of my men left loyal to the Emperor, just to get here and warn him. My father has embraced the tenets of Slaanesh and is going against the Imperial Creed. How do you think that makes me feel?"

"He will kill you for this if he does not believe you." Halbrecht ran a hand over his stubbled head.

"I would rather face the Emperor's justice than live a lie, Hal."

Halbrecht shook his head. "You always were a humourless sonofabitch. I doubt that has changed." From Halbrecht's lips it was a compliment. "He will want proof, you know this."

"He will have it; all he has to do is look at my brothers."

Halbrecht nodded a little; he had seen what had been done to his friend's Legionnaires himself, but the Emperor might take more convincing. Finally, he made up his mind and picked his helmet up. "Bring _The Eidolon_ to dock in one of the _Phalanx's_ hangars. Remain on board until I send someone for you and I will assign you and your... company some quarters. I will request the Emperor's presence; how long he takes is up to him."

"This is urgent, Hal," Marius stressed.

"I can see that, but what the Master of Mankind deems urgent might be entirely different. I have given my orders. I will also inform my father of what has been said here. He will want to hear it for himself so he may accompany the Emperor or come to listen to you before the Emperor gets here."

Marius bit back the retort and bowed his head in acquiescence, yet inside he was frustrated. This could be a matter of hours or a matter of days, and every day wasted meant another day his father could consolidate his own plans.

Halbrecht motioned at the new colour scheme. "Not sure what they are going to think of this, though." With that, he walked out of the room and returned to the _Phalanx._


	7. Chapter Five

The _Alpha.  
_

The sister ship of the _Beta,_ and flagship of Omegon. Right now he did not feel like a Primarch, and it had been months since he had felt like a son of the Emperor. He looked at his reflection in the mirror: heavy brow, avcoppery tinge to his skin, and now a scar that would forever remain, one that almost cut his left eye in two and ran from his temple to his nose.

It was a gift from Alpharius, a memory of when he had left with half the Legion to join the Emperor's forces. He was not even sure what had brought it all about, a point of failure that rankled at his intellectual pride. His brother had become withdrawn, refusing to allow him in on discussions he'd had with other members of the Legion. It was as if there was something different in his own place. And then -

Omegon had argued with Alpharius for days, telling him that his plan had not been perfect, nor was it flawless, but rather that it went against everything they were created for. They were dedicated to being the serpent beneath, but for that they needed to see the truth, better than anyone. And the truth was, Horus was in the right. That was all but self-evident, with all that the Imperium had done. And yet, Alpharius would not allow any deviation from his ideals. They had been created by the Emperor, and therefore they should return to the Emperor.

As might have been expected from the Twentieth Legion, the schism was gradual, subtle at first. Hints of what Alpharius was planning, hints left that Omegon would not follow him. And once that emerged, they had struggled, for weeks, for their sons' allegiance until the schism split the Legion in two. Now, all that was left of those intricate shadows was black and white - those who believed in the Emperor's dubious plan, and those who accepted Horus's necessary rebellion.

Omegon clenched his fist and turned as Jasna Maros, the master of the _Alpha_ , came in and stood before him.

"You wanted to see me, my lord?"

He was tall for a human, about sixty years of age with white hair receding at the temples. He stood at a smart attention, the jacks that connected him to the spirit of the _Alpha_ discreetly covered by his uniform jacket.

"Set a course to intervene with the _Iron Blood._ I would speak with the master of the Iron Warriors."

"So, you are set on this course, my lord? Revealing that you are a brother Primarch."

Some would have censured the officer for questioning his orders, but that was not the Twentieth's way. Besides, Omegon had a lot of respect for the _Alpha_ 's commanding officer, and it was not easy to win Omegon's respect.

"I have no choice, my friend; unveiling is now inevitable. At least I still have the Geno and half the Legion. With the Alpha split against itself, one way or another, the other Primarchs will learn they have another brother, one that has had to stay in the shadows."

"Perturabo and Alpharius were not exactly... friendly. He may not believe you."

"He'll believe me. A Primarch knows another Primarch. If anything, I am surprised that Horus never worked it out."

Maros bowed low and left his master to his thoughts. Omegon touched the scar on his face and continued watching the great, empty void as his vessel gradually moved through it at subluminal speed. He had much to think about and much to do. No matter if he felt very small, in these days; even a grain of sand could start an avalanche.

* * *

Tarsons came to in a dank, dark cell, finding himself chained to a stone slab. He had no idea where he was and he had no idea where his brothers were; the last thing he remembered was fighting against a squad of Night Lords. He felt cold; raising his arms as far as the chains would allow, he saw his own naked flesh. The door swung open and two midnight-clad Astartes walked in and smoothly stepped to one either side of the door. The light that flooded in hurt his eyes for a brief moment, causing them to sting. He snorted disdainfully at the shadowed figures, but the disdain fell from his face as he saw who turned the corner and came into the doorway next, his massive frame dwarfing the two Night Lords with him.

The Night Haunter stood at the end of the slab and regarded the creature upon it. When he had been informed of what had happened on Carenn, he had the other two flayed alive, but instead of begging for a quick death, they had pleaded for more. It had merely confirmed to him how far his once-close brother's sons had fallen and how his flawed brother had allowed them to fall. The disgust he had felt at such pacts only strengthened within him, as did his resolve to keep his sons free of such bargains. It was known within the Night Lords that, if any of them made pacts with daemons, they would be expunged from their brothers and their gene-seed destroyed. The Night Haunter would rather destroy his own legacy then have daemons and their ilk have one foothold on his legion.

"You are going to tell me why my brother has deemed it necessary to allow such... filth to change his sons," he spoke.

Tarsons laughed. "You already know the answer to that, Uncle," he sneered, his disdain returning. "My father is the shining example of a how a Primarch should be, more perfect than Sanguinius or Horus. He has seen the inevitable new world to come, and instead of fighting it or kneeling to it, he has stepped forth and perfected it."

The Night Haunter rolled his eyes. He was not going to boost this creature's ego by arguing with him. He shook his head and stood by the door to the cell. "Jago, Mikhail, take this filth to the lower reaches of the _Nightfall_. The same place we send those who have betrayed the Legion. He is to be left there, forgotten. Let us see if his thirst for sensation and pleasure sustain him when there is none to be had."

"By your command, Lord." Sevatar was glad for that: the sooner they got this abomination away from the rest of the crew, the better.

Trueze wanted to kill the beast, but his father had already gone over this: by granting Tarsons a slow painful death, he would give the Emperor's Child what he wanted, and Curze was not going to do so. He was not going to allow any gateway for Chaos to infiltrate his crew.

"No harm comes to him, Mikhail, that is what he wants. When he is placed into his cell, return to me and we shall head for Calth."

"Calth?" Jago asked.

"That is where Fulgrim is headed, and so I will meet him there. I will deal with my errant brother's sons, and I will bring Fulgrim to his destiny."

"Which is?" Trueze asked.

The Primarch shook his head. "Later, my sons... now get this trash out of the way of my sons and daughters so that it cannot contaminate them with its vile presence." He strode out of the room and both the Astartes did as their father ordered.

The Night Haunter had found something to vent his anger on, something with which start the path to avenging the deaths of his people. If destroying his brother's plans made even a dent in the destiny of the Emperor, he would render them to less than dust.

* * *

Fulgrim stood before the assembled brotherhood, his face unreadable. That concerned the captains and Eidolon; once again the Lord Commander was left out of the loop. Something was going on, and he had no idea what. Once upon a time he would have been part of whatever the Primarch was feeling, for they had been close since Chemos.

Now, now he was just as in the dark as anyone else, with the exception of Demeter and Vespasian. This annoyed him. Vespasian was a great warrior, but more and more he had the Primarch's ear, and worse, so did that blasted Demeter. He had never cared much for the former second captain. In fact, if he had his way, he would have had him busted back down the ranks when Demeter had attacked him. There was a time the Primarch would have done that, but now...now the bastard was First Captain.

Once the cheering and adoration for the Primarch had stopped, Fulgrim clasped his hands behind his back. His face was set in stone, and as this giant of perfection descended the stairs from his throne, his mood encompassed the entire room.

"When we last spoke, my sons, I outlined my plans for our future. I said that whatever world we brought to the Emperor's vision, we would take the young. Whatever world of our enemies we conquered, we would take their young, to build our own brotherhood and sisterhood of loyal, fervent warriors. That they were not to be exposed to the path of the Dark Prince until I was ready for them to be. Do you remember, Lucius?"

He stopped before Lucius and ran a fatherly hand down his cheek. Lucius almost fell over in adoration for his father; his hearts hammered against his chest and he almost wept at the glory of the Primarch noticing him.

"I remember, father," he whispered.

Fulgrim smiled, but it didn't touch his eyes, and indeed the glint that entered them made Lucius realise what was about to happen. He had no idea who had told the Primarch about his and Ruen's conversation, but someone had. Thankfully for Lucius, though, this time the Primarch patted his shoulder and moved on.

"It would seem that there is one of you who believes that he is above such orders," the Primarch continued, resuming his slow walk amongst the assembled brotherhood.

There were murmurs amongst the captains about who would dare go against a direct order from the Primarch.

"You see, my sons, I do not issue those orders lightly. I know that whilst we will continue to take initiates from our glorious world of Chemos, we do not return there often enough to recruit as we should. And we all know that the pinnacle of our enemies' defeat is turning their young against them. That is why I have given them a part of the ship under the protection of my Phoenix Guard. But one of you saw fit to disregard that order. Ruen of the 21st, step forward."

Ruen looked around him and moved forward, bowing his head as he did. He shot a glare at Lucius, threatening retribution for whatever befell him. Lucius shook his head silently to signify that he had said nothing, but his eyes told Ruen that he had been warned.

"Why, Ruen? I trusted you, my son, why would you go against my orders?" Fulgrim stood behind him and placed a paternal hand on his shoulder. "Tell me what drove you to kill those remembrancers and almost kill the children under my express protection."

He was giving Ruen an opening, Eidolon realized, a chance to say that he had lost control. It would be a humiliation, but if Ruen repented, or claimed he had been controlled, he might return to the ranks, stripped of his rank but alive. Instead, though, Ruen kept his head front and centre and narrowed his eyes. "You cannot deny me sensation, father. I wanted to know how best to corrupt a child's innocence into something servile to Slaanesh. Express protection is a restraint, of the sort we must shed, sooner or later... perhaps it was too soon."

Fulgrim patted his shoulder and, in one swift movement, moved his other hand round and snapped Ruen's neck clean around so that his head faced back to front. The snap was loud enough to hang in the stunned silent air. He wasn't finished yet; with barely a grunt he ripped the head of Ruen from his body and threw it until it was dead centre of the room.

"When I give an order I expect it to be carried out. When I set a precedent it will be followed. When I say on pain of death that none of my Legion's future are to be harmed, **I mean it!** " His voice rose, his face becoming a mask of fury. Each and every son in the room moved to one knee, their father's anger palpable. " **THIS IS WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO ANYONE ELSE WHO DEFIES MY ORDERS! EIDOLON**!"

"My lord?" Eidolon rose to his feet.

Fulgrim glared at him for a moment. Then, as swiftly as his rage had surfaced, his face regained its beatific composure.

"I have chosen who will make the first landfall on Calth. The 13th and 21st companies shall make the initial planetfall at Numinous City. The 43rd and 57th shall attack the Calth Veridian Anchor, and they shall be under your command, Eidolon. Do me proud, my son."

"If I may ask, father, where will you be? Such a battle must have you at the front of it."

"Oh, I will be there, my son. I will be with the First, Second, and Third Companies alongside Lord Commander Vespasian as we take the fight to Chapter Master Gage." Fulgrim wagged his index finger. "We shall destroy Calth and render it inhospitable. Once that is done it will be onto the heart of this traitors' nest! We shall bring Calth to its knees - " his voice rose in grandeur - "and then we shall deal Guilliman a blow he will never recover from. The rest of you shall have your orders given to you by Lord Commander Vespasian. Make sure that the battle plans you are given are followed to perfection. We shall come out of this winners, my sons, this I promise you." He picked up his wine goblet and sat back on his throne. "Now eat, drink, and let us celebrate the fortune to befall us!"

As Eidolon sat back, he looked at the dead eyes of Ruen staring at him and rubbed his lower jaw. Lost in thoughts known only to himself, he moved his gaze away and listened to the old songs of Chemos, now filled with new, extreme notes, as they sounded around the hall.

* * *

The Primarch's strategium looked more like the inside of a cathedral, symbols of the new gods of the Imperium given pride of place in various parts of it, surrounded by candles and other offerings, some of which the waiting visitor dare not even think about the provenance of. Despite following what his heart had told him, he was decidedly uncomfortable around such blatant faith.

His gaze swept round and fell upon the area reserved for the Emperor. It was bigger than the other icons, making it obvious where his brother's faith lay. He clasped his hands behind his back and waited. He had been a guest aboard the _Fidelitas Lex_ since he had walked in on Lorgar's conference with the others of the Emperor's chosen. He had seen the destruction of Nostramo and had suddenly felt very relieved that he had never spoken of his home world, and never would. After all, he rarely went back there and recruited from worlds that he had conquered.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting, brother." He turned as Lorgar strode into his strategium, flanked by Argel Tal of the Gal Vorbak. He had heard plenty of the vaunted Word Bearer warrior whose duties had also encompassed being Lorgar's personal bodyguard. The Gal Vorbak were the Legion's most respected warriors and held in awe by other Word Bearers. Lorgar's favoured, he had heard.

"You had other things to attend to, brother." And, no doubt, Lorgar still did not entirely trust him. Alpharius could not truly fault him for that. There were plenty of Alpha Legionnaires secreted away on the _Fidelitas Lex_ , conveying his orders to his Legion from this comfortable captivity.

Lorgar came towards him and embraced him as a long-lost brother, then stepped back, his hands on his brother's pauldrons. It always struck Lorgar how much like Horus his brother looked, and whilst he had had very little to do with Alpharius's secretive Legion in the past, that was about to change.

"Did your sons agree to finally come to the side of the Emperor, my brother?" Lorgar asked.

Alpharius shook his head. With the Hydra split, its secrets could not hold; better to control their evaporation. "My Legion is split in half, one half with me, the other half with Omegon."

"Your friend? You will have to deal with him and the others at some point, Alpharius."

"Not my friend, Lorgar." Alpharius took a deep breath. "My twin brother."

Lorgar stared at him for a long time and then began to laugh. He brought his hands together in delight; it was a resolution he had only dimly suspected, but it answered a lot of questions in his mind.

"So we had two brothers that none of us knew about until recently." Lorgar smiled, lighting up his golden features. "Does Father know?"

Alpharius nodded. "He knows. He knows more about us then he would have anyone believe; such is his way."

Lorgar nodded. "Then let us keep your secret, brother, between you and I. When we see the Emperor and he welcomes you to the elite circle you belong in, you shall be able to put your skills to good use."

"We live to serve the Emperor." Alpharius bowed his head.

Lorgar nodded. "We do indeed, brother, we do indeed. Come, Argel Tal will show you to your quarters; we have much to talk about. I will join you momentarily... and thank you, brother. The last few days have been – soul-draining, to say the least."

"I expect they have," Alpharius agreed archly. "You realise, don't you, Lorgar, that Curze will be out for revenge."

"Oh, I am counting on it, brother." Lorgars mouth curled in a secretive smile.

Alpharius inclined his head and walked out with Argel Tal. Lorgar watched them go and sat back in his throne. There had been rumours about the Alpha Legion since they first came to the attention of the other Primarchs. It had been Horus who had discovered them. It made sense for Alpharius to join Horus, but, something must have happened to change Alpharius's allegiance. Something had happened between him and his twin brother to split the Alpha Legion in two. The Emperor would sense any falsehood, that was certain, but Lorgar was curious and he wanted to know more. Before they returned to Holy Terra he would have his answers. Even should Alpharius be more loyal than even himself, Lorgar expected him to have his own agenda.

Unfortunately, though, Lorgar no longer had any choice but to trust him.


	8. Chapter Six

The Calth Veridian Anchor was preparing for shift change. The senior watch officer, Marsha Trevelas, read the previous watch report and was shocked upon her arrival to see not just the _Macragge's Honour_ in high orbit, but several ships of the Space Wolves, including the _Hrafnkel_. The Primarch of the Space Wolves himself was somewhere on Calth.

She was told to be watchful for any unusual activities, although there was no further description of what. There were several Ultramarine vessels in orbit around Calth, including the _Blade of Konor_ , under the command of Captain Fecevius of the 243rd Company. They acted as boarding parties to vessels that were considered suspect. As he was the ranking officer in the area, she contacted him... or tried to contact him.

 **++This is Watch Officer Trevelas to the _Blade of Konor_. My respects, my lord, just notifying you of watch change at midnight Hera time.++**

She frowned as she got no answer. This was not right; even if the captain had retired for the night, either the _Blade_ 's vox officer or one of the captain's sergeants would have answered. She tried again, then again.

All she got was static. She had been informed that the Chapter Master himself was on Calth, and by rights and procedure she would have to notify him. Had it been a human trading vessel, she would have put it down to laziness on the human crew's part, but not an Astarte battle-barge, especially not an Ultramarine vessel.

She tried to contact the _Iax Praetorian_ , the _Calth Lion_ , and the _Juno Tribune_ , all without luck; none of the guardian fleet were answering, though according to the logs they had checked in the previous morning. She decided that this was too worrying to be left unchecked and, changing her frequencies, she attempted to contact the _Macragge's Honour,_ but a shout from crewman Kenton made her turn and watch in horror as _The Blade of Konor_ suddenly split apart, a titanic Space Marine vessel ploughing through it like it was butter.

She looked down at her auspex again as she ordered the alarms to be activated, the sound of which would send the security force of the CAV into action. The other vessel was not just any ship; with its swept-back golden wings at the front, she realised she was looking at the _Pride of the Emperor_ , the flagship of the Emperor's Children. She got an SOS to the _Macragge's Honour_ , but not before the _Calth Lion_ suddenly turned, and with its other sister ships, began to fire on the watch tower. Her last thoughts, as the screams of the dying around her and glass shards from every internal window cut into her body like ballistic missiles, was that she had not told her husband how much she loved him. Then, it all went red as her blood covered the panels around her and her head exploded.

The Battle for Calth had begun.

* * *

The Master of the _Macragge's Honour_ roared at his bridge crew to turn about. Having seen the destruction that was being wrought at the CAV, he wanted them there, and there fast. Captain Fiberik, the designated second-in-command when the Chapter Master was not aboard, ordered all Astartes to prepare for battle. The Imperial Army of the Calth 103rd Division that were aboard the _Macragge's Honour_ began mobilising for possible boarding actions.

The _Pride of the Emperor_ ignored anything else around it and carried on towards its goal, the flagship of the Ultramarines. Lord Commander Desenius realised that the _Hrafnkel_ was there too and a viscous smile split his face. The fleet of the Emperor's Children was as large as the enemy forces combined; he could take out two flagships and leave the Wolves and the Ultramarines below stranded.

"Inform the Primarch that there are Space Wolves on Calth. Inform him that the _Hrafnkel_ is in high orbit, and that means that the Wolf King is on the surface."

The vox officer, a human by the name of Gavar, bowed his head and immediately relayed the Lord Commander's orders. Once he had done that, he touched his ear and turned to the Lord Commander once more.

"My lord. Captain Lucius is requesting a pick up from the _Calth Lion_."

The Lord Commander shook his head. "Concentrate on the _Macragge's Honour_. Lucius can make his own way to the space port."

"Do you wish me to relay that to him, Lord?"

"No."

The vox officer did as he was told. The Lord Commander watched his holomap and focused on the ships before him; he had his orders, and they were to ignore any and all calls from Lucius and his company. He had seen the Primarch execute Verona and deal with Ruen; he happened to like his head where it was.

The _Pride of the Emperor_ had greater glories to achieve, and he was going to ensure they did exactly as his father expected. He looked down at his holomap and smiled as he saw the _Erewhon, Andronius. Fulgrim's Virtue_ and _Longinus_ move into the formations they had been assigned. For the briefest of moments he thought he saw a flicker on his screen, like an opening in space, but ignored it. Most likely, it was the death explosions of the ships near the ruined Calth Veridian Anchor.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

* * *

Lucius coughed angrily as he pulled himself from the wreckage of the _Calth Lion._ After firing upon the CVA he had rammed it so that the 13th could have better access; unfortunately, although it was a good plan, the _Pride of the Emperor_ played her hand too soon. As soon as Fulgrim had left in _Firebrand_ , she was to wait for the all clear, then head towards the _Macragge's Honour_.

He had seen the Space Wolves vessels in high anchor and tried to warn the _Pride of the Emperor_ , but they were not listening. He had left a thousand men on _The Blade of Konor_ , Sergeant Acusa had taken it in under the same regulations the Emperor's Children had followed before they embraced Slaanesh - for there was a room for such tactics, too. Theirs was an evolution, after all, not merely a corruption.

They were to use the _Blade of Konor_ as a backup vessel when it came to taking out the rest of Calth's protective ring. Now... now he had seen the flagship plough through the smaller vessel like it was nothing. He had seen the bodies float out and then be smashed to pieces by the flotsam and jetsam. The Lord Commander had murdered a thousand of his men, for no good reason... Lucius had a nasty suspicion forming in the back of his mind. He kept it there and filed it away.

He would need more proof, and he had a job to do. Gathering his wits about him, as well as those of his company who had managed to make it to the CAV, they began to tear their way through the burning structure. At some point it was going to give way, and when it did, Lucius was not certain he would survive such an explosion, to say nothing of a fall that would lead all the way to the surface; they had destroyed the watch tower, but there was still plenty of death to deal out.

* * *

The _Phalanx_ was a legend in its own right, and it had every right to it. Even before the universe turned on its head, its coming heralded the arrival of none other than the Praetorian himself. There was a time when the arrival of Dorn's mighty fortress vessel gave great joy to worlds that had once been brought to illumination by it; the sight of Rogal Dorn, warrior and politician rolled into one, warmaker and peacekeeper, was enough to have feast days and carnivals long after he had left.

Now, the sight of it was enough to strike fear into the worlds' hearts.

Marius Vairosean could well see why. No matter how many times he had been on the _Phalanx_ , about half a dozen thus far, it never ceased to amaze him how the Imperial Fists managed to run their day-to-day business, recruit and train Novitiates, and run their conquered worlds all with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. This was their home as well as their fortress, as well as an Astarte flagship. The Imperial Fists had no single home-world to speak of, although some of their recruiting was done on Inwit, where Rogal Dorn had once been raised, and some on Terra. Some Astartes believed that Terra had, by dint of their constant presence on it, become the Fists' effective home-world.

Marius paced the chambers he and the remainder of 3rd Company had been given over. It had been a day or two since he had been ordered to dock with the _Phalanx_ and await the Emperor's pleasure, or Rogal Dorn's. He glanced up as he heard the approach of two of his sergeants, Ferso and Terogil. They bowed their heads and waited for him to acknowledge them, which he did.

"My lord, how much longer must we wait here?" Terogil respectfully said. "The men are getting restless and feel like we are being imprisoned."

Marius rubbed his brow. He was tired and drained; the last few months had taken a toll on him, both emotionally and spiritually, and as he swept his gaze over his battle brothers, he could see the same emotions run across their faces. "In a sense, until I have spoken to the Emperor, we are prisoners without chains."

Ferso, a brute of a marine even by their standards, shook his head. "My lord, we will follow you wherever you lead us, and if you want us to submit to the Emperor's justice we will, but we are itching to get back to the Crusade, to deliver the worlds of the Imperium into the new dawn."

Marius swallowed. He had not regretted his return to Terra for an instant before this moment, even though he knew the waiting was hard for them all. But now, he wondered if he had as good as betrayed his men, who had sacrificed everything for him, by leading them to this bureaucratic stalemate. Logic opened no paths to them. Thus, he rested his hands on both of his sergeants' shoulders. "Gather the men and we shall join in prayer to the Emperor; hopefully he will hear us and answer us."

But before the two veterans could move, they were suddenly compelled to their knees by an aura so powerful there was nothing they could do but kneel. Marius turned and fell to one knee, tears streaming down his face, as all his brothers wept to be in the presence of one as magnificent as he was.

The quarters they were in was bathed in a golden light that eventually cascaded, and a hand reached out and rested on Marius's shoulder. "Marius Vairosean." The voice was that of a highborn Chemosian noble, the accent flawless, and Marius wept to know this being knew his name.

"My Liege." Marius raised his head to look into the eyes of a Chemosian noble; that is how the Emperor appeared to him, a perfectly born noble of highest status and wealth from resurgent Chemos. To his brothers he would have appeared as something different. It was a coping mechanism; even the Primarchs never saw their father's true face. It was said that to see the Emperor's true face would lead to madness or death, as the mind would not be able to cope with the wreath of power that surrounded him. Other rumours, which were now blasphemous, had said that his true face was merely so unremarkable or ugly that he chose to let it remain unseen, or that he no longer retained one. Regardless, the Emperor's physiology allowed him to alter his appearance to one acceptable to the mind of whomever was talking with him, but it did not stop the sheer magnetism and personality of the Emperor from encompassing a room. You knew when you were in his presence; you didn't have to be a psyker to know, you just knew.

"I never forget any of my grandsons, no matter what side of the lines they sit." The Emperor looked around at the rest of the Astartes kneeling in his presence, feeling humble and unworthy to be even within touching distance of their mighty grandfather. "What is this? One of Fulgrim's favoured Captains wearing different colours? Has something happened that I am unaware of?"

Slowly and carefully, Marius told his grandfather everything, from the temple of Laeran to the beginning of the corruption of the Legion and its descent into madness, to the experiments that Bile was conducting on Legionnaires of the Third. Above all, Vairosean emphasized the growing cult of Slaanesh, which had spread in place of the Emperor's.

At first the Emperor would hear none of it, almost ordering Vairosean's silence. Fulgrim was his son, one of his favoured sons; he could not and would not believe that he would be so foolish to cast aside all that he had taught him and the bond they had, all for that disgusting creature that the foul eldar had created in their hedonistic past, especially after his words after Laeran. It was one thing to deal with the creature, but to worship it... But he could hear Vairosean's earnestness, though he did not believe his perception, and therefore he did not respond in anger.

"I am sorry, Marius, I cannot believe this. Fulgrim would never betray me. He seeks to emulate my perfection and all he does is in my name"

"My Liege, Master of Mankind, look into our hearts and our minds." Marius swallowed. "See the truth as it really is. None can lie to you there, grandfather, no matter what words are spoken the memories speak truer than anything else can."

The Emperor rose to his feet and walked among every member of the remaining 3rd Company. He was silent for an awfully long time, then said, "Who among you is a former Librarian?"

Brother Gareas rose to his feet, his head still bowed. "I am, My Liege."

"Do you willingly open your mind to me, my grandson, knowing that it will mean your death?"

"I give my life willingly to you, My Liege. If it clears my captain's name and sets you on the path of the truth of the matter, then I have ridden my destiny."

The Emperor stood before him and leant forward, whispering in his ear so that only he heard. "I commend your soul to rest, Demcas Gareas; I will personally seek out any suitable relatives of your family line and bring them into service to carry on your duty as my Custodes. You will live on in honour. I cannot make this gentle, grandson, but know that through your mind I will see all and I love you. Compose yourself and prepare to open all you know to me."

Gareas took several deep breaths and allowed the Emperor to rest his hands on either side of his head.

"Goodbye, my brave grandson, now open your mind to me."

The Emperor had been correct in that it was not a gentle act; however, even though his mighty psychic power reached into the Librarian's mind and broke his defences down without a thought, he drew him against him and held him as his body struggled to live despite the power that was starting to fry his mind and his body.

The Emperor skimmed his personal memories, what were left of his time as a human, committing the faces of the family to his memory so that when the time came he would know who would carry on the name of this brave warrior. He saw Gareas's passing of the trials that would allow him to become a Novitiate, passing the tests and training that got him into the Emperor's Children scouts, and finally, forty years after that, finally becoming a full Astarte, his position as Librarian suspect but his service both as a psyker and a battle-brother after the edict of Nikaea impeccable.

The Emperor did not let go, easing his dying son into his embrace so that he did not die alone. Blood streamed from the Astarte's eyes and ears, his nose shattered, blood erupting from his mouth as the Emperor watched the unfolding of events that brought the debauchery of his son's Legion to the forefront. He saw Bile's expeiments and what he had done to the Astartes under his medical care. The skin began to burn and Gareas began to roar in pain; it was too much for him, but even as his brain boiled, the Emperor saw what finally became of the 3rd Legion. The First Captain declaring his support for Horus, the corruption of the 2nd Captain, and the fall of the Emperors Children from his light to the service of Slaanesh over him.

He stepped back and brought the burning body down, holding Gareas as he died. His body was a charred mess of meat and bone, but not a completely destroyed one. Reaching inside, he removed the gene-seed and gave it to a nearby Apothecary. Removing his cloak, he lay it over the dead Astarte and got to his feet.

"You have called yourself the Emperor's Blades?"

"We wish to serve you, Majesty," Marius quietly spoke, awed and horrified in equal measure at what happened to his battle brother, but honoured that Gareas had given his life to clear Marius's name. For had the Emperor not believed him then he would surely have died in disgrace.

The Emperor looked at his burnt hands that slowly began to heal. He nodded a couple of times, but the anger he had not felt before radiated off him, causing all the Astartes to feel nauseous and dizzy. Aware that he might cause more death, the Emperor reined his anger in.

"Then that is what you shall be known as. I have seen the truth of the matter and I shall deal with this. Remember his sacrifice, Marius, for had he not opened his mind to me all of you would be dead now. I shall have Halbrecht take you to Terra where you will be under the jurisdiction of Sigismund for the time being. Your duties will be to keep the Emperor's Law on Terra and in the Sol System, and you will accompany the Imperial Fists to war when they require it, so that you may earn the honour you feel you need to regain."

The Emperor nodded his head once and, turning on his heel, walked out, leaving the Emperor's Blades to their destinies. He clenched his fist and, upon his return to Terra, he headed straight for the Golden Throne and sat on it.

He would have answers and he would have them now.

* * *

Lucius was not a happy Astarte. He had been prepared for a landing on the outskirts of the city, but at the last minute plans were changed. It was deemed more appropriate for him and the 13th to take on the CAV; the Primarch had ordered it, so it was done. He took his frustration out on the soldiers of the security detail, but killing humans had become a chore to him. Not even the sounds of their pleas turned his senses on; it was dull noise. Worse, although the 13th were winning, the sounds of the creaking structure meant that, unless they got to the shuttles, they were going to go down in flames; and Lucius was not ready to die yet.

He stopped as a squad of Skitarii came towards them, led by a Magos whose upper body was rammed into a small tank that served as his legs. He hadn't considered that there would be any members of the Mechanicum left except those that had surrendered to the Emperor and the Iron Hands, but it was evidently so, perhaps from the outlying Forge Worlds. He watched, fascinated, as four of his company charged at the traitor Magos but were cut down by the Skitarii around their master.

Now these would be interesting foes. They had a reputation, these creatures, one that Lucius intended to put to the test. From what little he knew about them, he knew that they were either natural born humans, born into the service of the Mechanicum and cybernetically enhanced once they were old enough, or vat-grown humans unnaturally grown to adulthood, or genetically engineered clones. It didn't matter to the captain how they had started life, though; his concern was in what magnificent ways they could end it.

Lucius thought of the servitors that served not just at Mechanicum-run worlds, but on the mighty Astarte vessels and trading ships, and planetside as brute labor too. But these were far from the mindless creatures he knew. Some of the Skitarii had a little personalty, some did not; some had small amounts of emotions, others did not. But, what they all had in common was their aggressive nature. Psycho-surgery had ensured that they were brutal enemies to face on the battleground, and he welcomed the challenge. Cybernetically and physically strengthened to reflect the battle-prowess needed, they were more than capable of holding their own whenever their master, whom they were loyal to until death, commanded it. Even against Astartes -

But not against Lucius.

He ignored anyone else around him, for all he could see was his prey. He wanted the Magos; he wanted to slice that inhuman creature into little pieces until what passed for blood in its body was running slick across the floor. Lucius dodged out of the way as Brother Osarra went flying in different directions, his torso landing in one place, his legs another, his hands bouncing off the ceiling, still twitching even in death. Lucius laughed; at last, a foe he could sink his teeth into! He ducked under a sweep of a halberd and rammed his sword into the softest part of the Skitarius's body, grabbed the halberd, and with a swing took the creature's head off.

Keeping the weapon and instantly getting used to its weight, he carried on. His brothers followed his example, some dying, some wounded, but as many as were cut down by the Mechanicum's elite troops, they too suffered casualties. With the blood and fluids mingling on the deck, it was becoming increasingly harder to keep balance. Lucius steadied himself and ducked as a chain-axe nearly took his head clean from his neck; he had to duck again as it came back, then move back as the Skitarii facing him closed the gap, keeping him on guard. With each swing it reversed its grip so that the backswing would ensure he did not have time to recover.

Brother Wedna, seeing his beloved captain's predicament, jumped on the back of the Skitarius and grabbed the augmented arm so that his captain could press his own attack. The Skitarius issued what sounded like a stream of nonsense but might have been an annoyed and irritated growl and, with his free hand, reached behind him, grabbing the Emperor's Child by his arm, pulled with little more effort than he would have used if he was lifting a human. The arm came out of Wedna's shoulder socket and sprayed blood over the Mechanicum super-warrior. Instead of crying in pain, Wedna laughed, letting his body adjust to the loss and feeling the sensations granted to him by following the Dark Prince. Even as his arm was dropped to the ground, he laughed, and he pulled with his free arm until the Skittarius began to rock backwards.

Lucius took his chance and, with the halberd he had taken from his first kill, rammed through the chest of the Skitarius and, by extension, Wedna too. The Skittarius tried to rise, but with a follow-up stroke of his sword, Lucius cut the head from the creature's neck. Fluids that were white, black, and maybe slightly reddish gray flowed in a spray, covering the captain. He removed the halberd and kicked the body off his brother. Wedna's eyes grew glassy, but the smile that was on his face remained there as he died. Lucius heard the tread of the Magos as he began to retreat, his force whittled down.

"Oh no you don't," Lucius muttered, and with a leap that would be more akin to a lithe panther or tiger, he landed on the front of the tracked vehicle and began to take the Magos apart, bit by bit. It did not matter to him that he was being cut and wounded; it would merely add to his collection of honour.

The Magos was terrified, for there was still enough humanity left in him to register that he was going to die. He did not want to die; he had been a collaborator of the Thirteenth Legion since the days of the Omnissiah's coming. He had spent centuries getting this far, destroying and protecting and creating machines of both war and peace, and this foul perversion would end it all. Had it been one of the other Astartes, he might have had a chance, but this was Lucius and there was something different about him. As the captain began to rip him apart, he realised that maybe this Astarte was different to those around him, like someone or some _thing_ else was guiding his destiny.

In a last-ditch effort to survive, the Magos fired his incinerator at maximum power, engulfing his attacker and several others behind him. He moved backwards, certain that the creature was dead, but Lucius, fire licking over his armour and his horrifically ritually scarred face, came out of the flames like a howling banshee and drove his blade down into the top of the Magos's skull and through the center of his neck and torso, severing all and any functions. The Magos let go a squark that might have been its death cry and finally flopped still.

Lucius breathed, deeply pleased by the scene of carnage around him. His surviving brothers got to their feet. He waited until the Apothecaries had done their gory duty then, with his company at his back, made his way towards the shuttles that would take him down to the planet. Luck, however, was not on his side; as they made their way down the next flight, a great explosion ripped through the entire structure and Lucius saw the void open up before him.

That was not an internal explosion; something outside had gone up. As he looked out, he saw several small craft buzzing around the _Perfection of Chemos_ , His vessel, it had come to get him - but before it could collect its captain, it had been blown apart, not by the attacks from the strike craft but a bigger vessel, on which he saw the winged skull motif along its side.

Before he could register any more, the last dying explosion of his vessel sent the Calth Veridian Anchor crashing down and in on itself, fires sparking all around them. All Lucius could do was yell at his men to hold on, and try to find something that would protect them. It was going to be a bumpy ride, and a long ride down. Some did as they were ordered; others were not so lucky. Emperor's Children went somersaulting out into the void with pieces of metal protruding from their chests or heads, while others were shot down by the strike craft as they flew by. Lucius couldn't understand it: the Night Lords were their allies, what had changed? Surely they must know that they were firing upon their loyal cousins.

He hung on as his ride began, and the last thing he saw before he passed out from the acceleration was the name of the Night Lords vessel as it moved past, heading towards Calth's moon.

 _ **Nightfall.**_

* * *

Captain Junar Kevates of the 105th Ultramarines Company watched as the drop pods fell from the sky above Calth. In the preceding minutes, he could see the sparks of light that marked out the destruction of the CAV, and now he waited for war to arrive. Alongside him was Jarl Juffar, a secondary commander of the Space Wolves' Eleventh Company. When the CAV had been destroyed, the Chapter Master had sent the signal to all the Ultramarines that had come with him and were already here.

It was time.

Numinus City had spent the last week preparing its defences. Under the direction of Veteran Sergeant Uriel Casererinus, the Calth 23rd Numerion Infantry followed the Ultramarines' orders to the letter. All the mothers and children had been evacuated long before the _Macragge's Honour_ had entered high anchor as per the orders sent ahead. The civilians had undergone long, tiring practise and training sessions under the watchful eye of Chaplain Ugusta, and even though they would never be ready to face Astartes, for no human ever could be, they were ready to defend their city in the best way they knew how. With courage and honour, that was all the Primarch asked, and it was all the Ultramarines asked. What the human defenders lacked in strength and stamina, they more than made up with in spirit and heart. That, to Kevates, was as important as power armour. The Metran 93rd Commandos of the Imperial Army, which had been traveling alongside the Space Wolves, were also present and, at this moment in time, were running scouting missions. They sent reports back to Juffar who, in turn, shared it with Kevates.

"Latest reports have the Chemosian 6th Infantry setting up camp here, here and here." Juffar drew a rough map in the dirt. "Looks like they are attempting to cut off any chance of retreat."

"They don't know the people of Calth very well," Kevates mumbled. "They will fight even harder for their homes and their pride, I have seen them do that enough times." They didn't know the terrain of Calth very well, either. If retreat to the underground became necessary, it would be merely difficult, not impossible.

"No one can doubt the heart of your people, Junar, but remember, many of them will die. It is inevitable as it is unfortunate."

"Are the sons of Fenris always so pessimistic?" Kevates asked.

"Pragmatic," Juffar corrected. "With all these drop pods coming in... hell, it seems the whole Third Legion is here. If the whole Rout was here it would be different, we'd have the numbers to tear their throats out if they even dared come close - but we were only the forces the Wolf King could scrounge up on short notice, and the Emperor's Children outnumber us and you combined. And I have read the reports of the battle on Carenn - your fancy tactics won't work here. You have to adjust, overcome, and adapt to the situation. All the theoreticals won't work against them, believe me, cousin, I saw it on Prospero with Angron's butchers." He raised his cybernetic arm as proof of his wounds.

Kevates knew that the Space Wolf was right. As much as it galled him to go against the express techniques laid down by his father, they weren't fighting a conventional enemy of any sort, but rather Astartes unpredictably interwoven with the power of the Warp, of a Legion they no longer understood. Damn it all, they were fighting Astartes. Kevates still couldn't believe it. Astartes just did not fight each other, it went against all bonds of brotherhood.

"Juffar, tell me, did you think about joining the Emperor's side?"

Juffar fell silent for a moment, his eyes still on the plateau before him as he considered his answer.

"Russ thought long and hard before throwing his lot in with Horus, I've heard. At first he thought Magnus was exaggerating, a sense of shame at how Nikaea turned out for them. It was the last battle he fought alongside the Khan, rest his warrior-spirit, that started changing his mind. Then the actions of the Dark Angels at one of Perturabo's fortresses, and Isstvan - but many in the Legion weren't sure until Prospero. It took seeing what Angron had done and the fact that when it comes down to it... in a final battle against the Emperor, it might just be the Cyclops who can end it all. As much as others profess to have great abilities, there is no one even close to the power of the Crimson King." Juffar returned to reading his data-slate. "I was not born on Fenris, true, but Terran or no, my loyalty is to Russ. So no, I did not think about joining the Emperor, not after Prospero. The gods of my ancient people are long gone, but we still named our children after them to remember what they were to us and how they shaped our lands and our hearts millennia upon millennia ago. To appease their ghosts - for even dead, they were said to hunger for vengeance. With the Imperium's coming, those traditions ended, and good riddance. I cannot and will not return to a galaxy that feels the need to worship gods. Especially those that revel in things like... well, like Kaesoron spoke of."

Kevates raised his hand for a moment and listened to something coming over his private vox feed. Standing to his full height, he looked around and then focused his vision on the plateau to see the Astartes beginning to arrive.

Juffar rose with him and began issuing orders to the Commandos, mainly to plant their explosives and get the hell away so that they could be used later. Kevates sent the signal to his company and they fell into preordained formations around them.

They could hear the singing of the Emperor's Children rising on the winds. It was a chilling sound, for those voices should not have been issued from any normal throat, let alone an Astarte's vocal chords. Juffar shook his head as, like his cousin, his enhanced vision picked out the altered, deformed bodies of his former prideful cousins.

"Eidolon's with them," he remarked and pointed in the direction he was looking.

Kevates switched his gaze and took in what he saw. The infamous Lord Commander was certainly there, ordering his troops into position, but there was something off about his body language. Almost as if he did not want to be with the rabble. Then again, his reputation stated that he usually fought alongside the Phoenician himself. Why was he here?

Well, at least that meant he wasn't attacking elsewhere.

Within an hour the drop pods had landed, and within half an hour the Emperor's Children were heading towards the city and the waiting Ultramarines and Space Wolves. Kevates drew his bolter and his chainsword.

"Courage and Honour, cousin."

"For Russ, Guilliman, Fenris and Ultramar," Juffar replied. "Kick them back into whatever hell they emerged from, cousin, and we shall sing of this for decades to come."

Kevates inclined his head and, as the explosions set by the Metran Commandos exploded, sending shards of rock and mud into the quickly erected fortifications of the Chemos Imperial Army, the Emperor's Children began their attack.

* * *

Eidolon let loose a devastating sonic scream that reduced three Space Wolves and two Ultramarines to quivering, gore-streaked messes. His anger was high now: he should have been fighting alongside the Primarch, not leading this rabble. He deeply missed seeing his father in action: to watch the Phoenician dance the battlefield was watching poetry in motion.

He grabbed a Space Wolf by his waist and threw him to the ground. His boot crashed down on the helmet, splitting it; his bolter, with a shot to the head at point-blank range, ended the traitor's life. There were none like his beloved father when it came to the field of war. So why, when his loyalty had always been to the Primarch and the Primarch alone, ever since they were younger men, had he left him out of the top echelon briefings? Why had Fulgrim preferred the company of Demeter and Vespasian above all others?

There were other Lord Commanders, but none had held the esteem that Eidolon had. Now he felt like he was being exiled, and so he resolved to take everyone in that blasted city and kill them, hand the harvest of young to his father, and take the most trophies he could. He had ordered that the gene-seed of the Wolves and Ultramarines be taken and given to Bile to work his strange experiments on.

He turned and moved as strafing fire from the city's walled defences kicked up the dirt around him, missing him but cutting down ten Astartes of the 57th Company, their bodies torn apart from the powerful shells that hit them and exploded within their bodies. The 57th had originally been slated for the Calth Veridian Anchor, but at the last moment, the Primarch had swapped their places with the 13th Company.  
 _ **  
But why should you fight for a father that has dishonoured you, my love? Come, embrace me fully and I shall give you all that you desire and more, so much more...**_

The voice came from deep inside him, and Eidolon thought he was going insane. It had the scent of honey and its words dripped like the finest spice, finding its way into his tortured soul and holding it. He would never abandon the Lord Commander Primus, she would always love him, would never leave him, he would comfort him and show him all that he deserved, she was beautiful.

Eidolon fought through the hallucination, though, focusing on the battle with razor sharpness. He watched as his beloved Captain Odvocar hacked at the body of a dead Space Wolf and removed the fangs, putting them on his armour, than proceeded to rip the armour off, wanting his skin as a trophy. Eidolon pulled him back and glared at him. **++Not now!++** he voxed, his anger rising. **++Do all that after the battle is won, brother.++**

Odvocar wanted to wear that skin as a reminder that the Emperor's Children were far more perfect than the barbarians of Russ ever would be. However, his commander won the battle of wills, and letting his blooded knife lower, he continued onwards, following the first and - in his mind - the most honoured Lord Commander in the fleet.

Odvocar had felt the insult of his commander's heart keenly. Eidolon had been the first to be raised as Lord Commander by the Phoenician; he had been held up as an example to all how a perfect warrior should be. He had looked to Fulgrim as any son would to their beloved parent. Now, all that had been taken away from him. But it would not remain so, not anymore: this would be the perfect battle, and all that these barbarians of Fenris and tinpot soldiers of Gulliman stood for would come crashing down. However, the cry that came from Eidolon's lips was not what he had expected  
 **  
"FOR THE GODDESS, DEATH TO HER FOES!"** Eidolon shouted, and it was echoed across the battlefield.

Odvocar revelled in the sensations this surprise caused within him. Odvocar realised, now that his thoughts had settled, that Eidolon had embraced the Dark Queen: his feelings of isolation had overwhelmed him and caused him to follow a being that he knew would not desert him. Odvocar would follow Eidolon wherever he led, and if that meant turning his back on a Primarch that was ignoring his commander, then so be it. Eidolon was the true face of perfection, and he would reward those who showed such perfection in battle and in conquest.

That was how it should be, and that was how it would be.

* * *

The Wolves had dug in deep, and despite their losses, were proving harder to kill than Eidolon and his brothers had in their arrogance expected. Juffar, blooded, scarred, and missing his flesh hand, ordered Pack Hendrak and Pack Nefkrne back to the city. Their assault packs would allow them to aid in the defense of the walls which, judging by the speed of which the Emperor's Children's own assault squads were approaching, would need all the help they could get.

He set his sights on the lead Dreadnought. His visor giving him the warrior's name: Brother Odetta. Whatever this Astarte had been before, though, was long gone. His opponent wasn't even recognisably a dreadnought anymore. It had mutated. The right arm ended in claws, and three whips extended from casings above the hand. The left arm had a multi-barrelled bolter in its place, but the front canopy was gone, horns and teeth surrounding a hole in the front where all Astartes who lived on as Dreadnoughts sat. The face, though, that was the worst: no hair and a mouth continually screaming in fury. Spikes rose up on its shoulders and along its legs and front, the sigils hurting the Wolves' eyes to look upon.

His thegn, Grafnikir, held the claw's banner high, putting life into the Wolves and rallying them. Grafnikir stood alongside his jarl and his brothers, fighting against the abomination that strode towards them, its scream reaching deep into the hearts and minds of the Rout. They did not falter, though, did not even consider it; they held their ground.

Two rockets flew over their heads and hit the brute on both sides of its arms, causing the behemoth to stagger a little; but it kept its balance. It raised its hand and its whips shot out, wrapping themselves around three Wolves, ripping into their armour and under the skin. Then it withdrew, drawing chunks of armour and meat with it, only to lash out again around their necks; with a yank and what sounded like a great hiss of excitement, it tore their necks from their bodies. The multi-barrelled bolter fired, hitting the thegn below the legs and in the arm that held the banner. He died without a sound. Battle-Brother Nordicas grabbed the banner before it fell, holding it high: it could be burnt, it could be torn, but to let it fall was the greatest sin of all.

With a roar to his father, echoed by his brothers, followed up with a roar to the spirit of their home world, Juffar ran towards the abomination. He leapt into the air and brought his chainsword down, into the only opening he could find, the face. Odetta span round, its arms lashing out at anything nearby, eviscerating Astartes and humans alike. Ultramarine, Space Wolf, and even Emperor's Child alike died with its death throes. With a final effort, it turned the bolter on itself and Juffar, its barrels dealing red-hot death to both the Space Wolf and itself.

The Dreadnought crashed to the ground, the chain axe still whirring into what was left of its face, ambiotic fluid mixing with the blood of the jarl. The squad that had fought with him all lay dead or dying, their bodies shredded from the beast's final movements.

But their banner stood.


	9. Chapter Seven

He flew within the Warp, free and unchained, his spirit heading where only he knew. The words of his grandson had disturbed him greatly; had it not been for the sacrifice of another, he would have executed them all for daring to spread lies about his son.

He stopped - in a manner of speaking - before a region that stood out from the greater roil. To human vision, it could be translated as a swirl of pinks, purples, scarlets, reds and blacks, covered with sheens of gold and silver. Beguiling to behold. The other creatures that had come for him, he had swatted aside with but a thought. So powerful was his aura that those who thought he might make a tasty morsel soon changed their minds, to the extent that they had any left.

He was power incarnate, and he had come for a showdown. Now, sending his thoughts directly into the Warp, he had enough power in those few words to send any and all daemons metaphorically scurrying.

 ** _Slaanesh! I will speak with you NOW!_**

At first there was nothing, and then he found himself on a facsimile of a world that did not look too different to Terra, until he realised that it was Terra: a Terra that had long since vanished, the world of his own fractured and bloodied childhood. He knew where he was, although he had never set foot in the place.

He had heard enough about it. He heard the sound of music and singing, a woman's voice - no, not any woman's voice, _her_ voice. He made his way towards the angelic sound, passing a crystal lake and paused to look in the waters. They revealed that he wore a face he had not seen in... well, a face that he had never seen in the flesh, though he knew it well.

As he entered the clearing he saw her, singing to him: his father and mother in happier times, before his birth and... he cleared his mind. They did not converse in any language that could be understood by mortal ears, yet the import of their words was not incomprehensible.

 ** _Do not play with me, eldar scum. I will talk with you, and I will talk with you now._**

 ** _Now, now, Khain'Serash, do you not find this pleasing? I thought I would allow us to talk where you would be most comfortable._**

For the first time, he realised that the serpent coiling itself around his mother most seductively was looking at him and talking to him. Picking up a rock, he threw it, hitting the serpent on the head and making it slip to the floor.

 ** _Next time it will be more than a rock. What are you doing to my son and grandsons?_**

The serpent moved towards the Emperor and, as it did so, entered its true form, a half-man half-woman, the culmination of millions of years of an ancient race's hedonistic pleasures coming together in one terrifying explosion that birthed the god-goddess who would hunt them for all eternity.

Slaanesh appeared eldar: lithe limbs, slender in body, but so attractive that, no matter what face he/she wore, all those that fell under his/her spell remained so. The humans that discovered her fell in love with him and would do whatever they could to please this darkest prince. The Eldar that gave birth to the creature they called She-who-thirsts, or She-who-will-not-be-named, feared him; for her goal was to hunt the eldar and take their souls, until the species' extinction - or worse.

Slaanesh moved behind the Emperor, touching his shoulders and smoothly whispered in his ear. **_You allowed Fulgrim to follow me. Of course he must place his father first, but he follows me in his desire to emulate his father._** The Emperor turned to find her mouth inches from his. _**I see potential in Fulgrim.**_

 ** _I see a creature born of alien madness, stealing my son and turning him into a monster... that was not our arrangement._**

 _ **I am not turning him into anything; I am merely showing him the path to perfection and enlightenment, to let go of that staunch front and give into the desires that drive him so that his perfection is attained.**_

The Emperor grabbed her throat and cocked his head to one side. ** _Do not seek to beguile me with your witchery, Slaanesh. I have seen what you have reduced my grandsons to; I have seen the horrors that they are becoming. This will end now!_** He threw her to the ground.

Slaanesh swallowed and got to his feet. _**Do not seek to intimidate me, Khain'Serash; I do not fear you.**_

 ** _No? Who was it that came to me? I did not come to any of you._** The Emperor sneered. ** _I will not let you take my son!_**

 ** _You are a hypocrite: you will kill your sons for not following your orders, you will have them fight amongst each other and exterminate each other to keep your darkest motives and secrets, and you will kill your own kin to keep it so, but when it comes to any of us having our own followers amongst the generals of your Imperium you think to forbid the inevitable. You have no choice: leave my realm, and do not return until I invite you._**

The Emperor was flung out of the Warp and back into his own body with such force that it almost threw him from the Golden Throne. The only outward sign of his pain was that his nose bled profusely. He clenched his fists, and anger coursed through him. That creature would destroy his plans for the adulation of a Legion.

He could not allow that.

* * *

They moved silently, midnight clad, unseen by Squad Hementus of the 57th. No one had seen their landing, the destruction of the anchor having hidden their approach. Squad Trueze moved as one. The elite squad contained two new members to replace the dead brothers whose names were entered on the Wall of Night: Brother Indra and Brother Palaras, brought up from the 3rd Company with the blessing of their Captain Uvensa.

They had spent the journey from Carenn to Calth training with their new brothers, honoured to be in such a respected and esteemed squad. But Trueze was as strict as his father: they had an impressive battle record, yet whether they would work well within his squad was a different matter. This would be their proving ground.

Squad Hementus had found and killed the commando unit that had set the explosives off at the start of the battle. Mikhail pulled a face as he saw his opposite number Sergeant Hementus fornicate with the dead body of a woman. _This_ was how far they had fallen now? Then they deserved everything they got.

He spoke in Nostraman to his squad, ordering them to circle round. When he was certain they were in place, he gave the order. The six Night Lords stepped from the shadows and began to fire. They showed no mercy and none was asked for; they just fired until the Emperor's Children were dead. Mikhail took in what he saw, the dead and skinned bodies, their musculature exposed to the elements. He nodded at Brother Indra, and the newest member of the squad put his flamer to the bodies of the dead Metran Commandos. The Emperor's Children were left to whatever carrion feeders Calth had.

 **++Squad Trueze to the Prince of Crows. Sector 72 cleared, moving onto the next area++**

 **++Affirmative, Justicar. Good hunting. Remember, do not be seen, not until the Dark King is ready to be seen++**

 **++Acknowledged, Justicar out++**

Trueze looked around him and moved onwards, his squad with him seemingly melding into the shadows of the setting sun.

* * *

The _Macragge's Honour_ was wounded, explosions erupting through the lower decks as salvo after salvo from the _Pride of the Emperor_ struck her broadside weapons. Ultramarines ran through the decks as bodies went flying, Sergeant Osiria catching one woman as a fire took out her companions. Her body was covered in burns and she screamed in pain. She was going to die; that was all there was to it.

He looked at her name - Hendric - then broke her neck and lay her down gently. He committed her name to memory as yet another reason to kill those bastards. The call came across the vox that boarding tubes had started their journey to the Ultramarine flagship. He heard his squad fall in behind him and met up with Squads Feriju and Apollos, two Tactical and one Devastator.

"Lieutenant, hold the deck entrance," Osiria ordered. "Stop anyone else from coming down here."

"By your command, lord." The human soldier turned to his men and women and stationed them at various entry points to the deck: the Ultramarines needed room and space to manoeuvre, and if there were panicked lower decks crew running from exploding weapons and fire then their jobs would be harder.

Apollos listened as the countdown began, and looked at one of the gunnery crews as they began to back away.

"Courage and honour!" he growled.

He understood their fear; they were human, and he was as far above them in terms of emotional control as they were above a felinid. But most of them were from the realms of Ultramar, and the citizens of Ultramar did not run. Even if they had been press-ganged from other planets outside Ultramar, they served on an Ultramarine vessel, and there would be no cowardice on his watch.

The sweat-slicked black-faced men swallowed and nodded; his words, whilst harshly spoken, reached into their last reserves. Another explosion rocked the ship, and another, and another. Finally two boarding tubes blasted through the lower gunnery deck. The crew he had just spoken to were torn to pieces by the flying metal from the ruptured hull. The door on the tube burst open, and the Emperor's Children were aboard the most sacred vessel in the Ultramarines' armada. The three squads opened fire, killing two of the traitors as they emerged, but brother Coyre emerged, opened his vocal chords, and let his sonic cry rattle off the walls.

The warriors of the human regiments firing down the corridor were killed instantly, their eardrums exploding as a foreshock to their heads. The Ultramarines moved back, their audio senses overwhelmed only for a few moments, but it was all the Emperors Children needed. The rest of Squad Fergietis emerged from the boarding tube and began carving their way through the three squads; the floor, already slick with the blood of dead mortals, was made more treacherous still by the flow of Astartes blood. The Ultramarines fought well, and with discipline, but man for man they were no match for the transformed Emperor's Children.

Osiria was the last to die of the Ultramarines: after he had taken Coyre down, he was run through with a chainsword, the blades whirring through his armour and into his torso, cutting through the carapace, and finally erupting through his back. His head was taken and mounted on the spikes that adorned Fergieties's armour.

He met up with some of his other brothers who had entered at various points around the gunnery deck and began slaughtering the human crews, along with the Mechanicum adepts. Eventually, the entire deck was awash with brains and body parts, and the main guns fell silent.

* * *

The _Hrafnkel_ had destroyed _Fulgrim's Virtue_ , its body listing as fuel leaked from her like a dying beast. With a few more carefully aimed shots it imploded, sending shock-waves out from its dead hulk and striking those Raptores of the _Pride of the Emperor_ unlucky enough to be caught in the wave.

Jarl Jorvik (subordinate jarl of For), left in command by the Primarch, smiled in satisfaction; despite her wounds, the _Hrafnkel_ still showed her teeth. Reports came in from across the vessel. Most of the casualities were among the human crews; when this was over, their names would be entered into the annals of the brave and the fallen.

He could see how badly damaged the _Macragge's Honour_ was, her guns fallen silent; he ordered the detachment, the _Ice Wolf,_ the _Fenrir,_ the _Haggai_ and the _Freya_ to aid the stricken flagship of the Ultramarines, give them enough cover to get their power back so they could withdraw to a safe distance.

He looked down at the screens as the _Fenrir_ was struck broadside by the _Andronius_ , straight through to the engines, He snarled as the smaller strike cruiser was destroyed almost instantly, bodies spewing out and cast into the void. It was becoming harder and harder to navigate through the sea of wreckage, organic and ship.

And yet the accursed Emperor's Children were doing so effortlessly. Their firing solutions seemed to slot precisely into the gaps left open by corpses, and any attack of the Wolves' and Ultramarines' the Third Legion adapted to instantly. Jorvik despised the tainted Legion and everything they stood for, but in this moment whoever led the enemy fleet - or was it still following the protocols laid down by Fulgrim before the battle? - was simply doing too good a job. Not with maleficarum-driven ferocity, but with precision and cunning.

Ultramarine dead merged with the dead of the Rout, of the Emperor's Children, of the varied masses of humanity. The entire flagship rocked as the _Longinus_ hit home, warning runes flashing up on his console, the fire crews already responding to the fires breaking out in Engineering. The _Hrafnkel_ responded by firing at the _Longinus_ , but her shots seemed to scatter around their mark, few finding substantial purchase. They were rushing too fast, too desperately, but what choice did they have?

The Wolves' flagship was struck again, this time by a slingshot volley from the _Pride of the Emperor_ , and the shipmaster and vox officer were thrown from their seats, their necks broken. Jorvik snarled in fury and took over the firing solutions as the servitors on the weapons stations jerked about, then died where they sat. Stress? Or sorcery?

Sergeant Okana moved one head, looked at it, and let it fall. The bridge crew, with the exception of the Astartes, were all dead.

"Check the Navigator's chamber," Jorvik ordered as he programmed a firing solution and then let loose upon the Emperors Children's vessel. They would not take his lord's ship, no matter what. Reports came in across the entire flagship; huge rents in the hull had caused substantial damage to the vessel. He looked up to see his solutions hit the target, but as she listed past him, boarding tubes flew synchronously at the _Hrafnkel_.

Jorvik ordered that all Astartes were to be prepared for boarding parties. Okana returned from the Navigator's sanctum and shook his head.

"She's dead, lord," he bluntly said.

Although Jorvik did not voice his thoughts, silently he commended his soul to Mother Fenris and, gripping his bolter and axe, he ordered his elite to the bridge. They were not giving up the _Hrafnkel_ without a fight, and if he had to destroy her himself to stop her from falling into those twisted whoresons' hands, then that is what he would do.

* * *

The Emperors Children had lost all sensibilities. The stink of death marked their debauched behaviour wreaking havoc amongst the crew of the _Macragge's Honour._ They lost their discipline, their commanders as much as the rank-and-file warriors; now it was far from the ordered way of taking a vessel the Phoenician had prescribed, but a free-for-all of lust, carnage and torture. Several Emperor's Children had de-armoured, skinned, and defiled the bodies of the Ultramarine dead, rubbing themselves against those who had not yet died in a twisted form of ecstasy that should not, by all the laws of being Astartes, exist any longer within them.

Whilst the Emperor's Children took their time defiling the flagship's spirit, though, the fight for the bridge was beginning in earnest. Having heard and seen what was happening to the crew and the warriors had at first been demoralizing, but not as demoralizing as the sheer ratio by which they were outgunned. The bridge crew were dead, their bodies flung out into the vacuum beyond when the bridge had been hit. The shipmaster sat in his command throne, his head sliced from his body by the lethal shards from the ruptured windows.

Fiberik stood with his squad, weapons drawn. The few stragglers had made it to the bridge to defend it, but it was a shattered bridge, no longer glorious in its endeavours. All that the _Macragge's Honour_ had, all her history, was dying; but they would be damned if they were going to let these traitorous bastards take the ship, Guilliman's ship, as some sort of debauched trophy.

He glanced at his men. Thirty of them left. He did not know how many Emperor's Children were left, but they had fought well; with all he had seen and heard, he was lucky to have that many brothers left. The Third Legion had sacrificed their unity, their morals, their very humanity for power; and that power had been granted. What could they do against this tide of flesh?

"And we shall know no fear," Sergeant Underese whispered.

Fiberik glanced at him. "Say that again, louder, Jace."

The sergeant looked at his captain. "And we shall know no fear."

"Again... keep saying it, all of you... show these bastard sons of a bastard Primarch that we are Courage and we are Honour, we are sons of Macragge and we are the sons of Gulliman, and we shall know no fear!"

As the Emperor's Children burst through the doors to the bridge they were met with the full force and anger of the Ultramarines. Their shout echoed around the now-ruined vessel, steeling their courage, making the blood of their father sing in their veins. For every Emperor's Child they killed, they enforced their shout, making sure their enemies knew what and who they were facing.

They fought for what seemed like hours but, in reality, was only a few minutes. Fiberik had already sent a message to the Chapter Master; he had not waited for a reply, for there was none to be had. But he took pride in the fact that, for every one of his brothers that fell, they took three with them.

When Underese fell, leaving Fiberik alone, the captain knew it was the end; but then, he'd known that before the Third ever broke onto the bridge. They were throwing company after company into this assault, drowning the Ultramarines in numbers and in unnatural strength.

And Fiberik, knowing this, had started the self-destruct sequence.

The commander of the bastards stepped forward, ready for the killing blow, his face split into a serpentine grin.

"This ship is ourssssss," he hissed.

Fiberik started to laugh. "Think again..."

The Emperor's Child fired his plasma pistol at point blank, incinerating the captain from the waist down. He turned in celebration: they had the flagship of the Ultramarines, they would take her in triumph back to the Primarch and they would make her one of theirs...

The _Macragge's Honour_ exploded into pieces, killing everyone left alive, whether Ultramarine, Emperor's Child, or human. She would never enter the ranks of the traitors as a trophy, but rather die a vessel of the Ultramarines.

Courage and honour...

* * *

Jorvik held onto the console as the shock wave from the destruction of the _Macragge's Honour_ filtered out, buffeting the remaining vessels as if they were in a storm of the worst magnitude on Fenris's unpredictable and dangerous seas. Yet where the Ultramarines' and Rout's vessels were shaken by the wave, the Emperor's Children rode it as if it was a mere pond-ripple.

This was how a _Gloriana_ -class died. Jorvik would have been stunned at the sight, had it not been for the fear that it would not be the last flagship to end today. The _Hrafnkel_ was too well-staffed to be taken by boarders wholesale, but too many of their guns had been damaged, and at this rate he'd soon have to limp away. If he could.

"She's coming around for another broadside, sir, and we have enemy boarding parties in the crew decks and the Primarch's chambers," Brother Uvec shouted above the din.

"Get them out of our lord's chambers. Nothing, repeat, nothing must be taken by those demon-loving motherfuckers."

Uvec relayed his lord's orders and, almost immediately, the sounds of battle joined reached the captain's ears. He cursed long and loud as another strike hit his vessel and roared an affirmation to his brothers on the _Freya_ as she struck the _Longinus_ from behind, but she was not quick enough to move from another attack from the _Andronius._ At first, Jorvik couldn't believe it. Surely no one had the accuracy to pull such a stunt off, surely it was a mistake -

Jorvik could only watch as the _Freya_ was rammed directly into the path of the _Hrafnkel_ , with the flagship's engines unable to respond quick enough. He snarled. He wondered, in that moment, whether he'd failed in his duty to the Wolf King, whether he should have found a way to save the flagship -

The _Freya_ struck the _Hrafnkel_ head-on, in a spot that ensured that, like the _Macragge's Honour_ before her, she too died a fiery death, taking the _Freya_ and the _Longinus_ with her.

The _Pride of the Emperor_ moved on. Ready to strike out at the remaining Space Wolf vessels, they didn't realise that now they were the prey and they were being hunted.

* * *

Kevates was being forced back towards the city and, eventually, ordered his squad to get back behind the walls when the skies lit up with the deaths of the _Macragge's Honour_ and _Hrafnkel_. For a moment every warrior, defender or attacker, was blinded. Fortunately for the warring Astartes, their enhanced vision compensated for the blinding flashes after that moment; unfortunately for the humans, they were not so lucky, and many fell from the redoubts to their deaths, or else to the floor, eternally blinded as their retinas burnt away.

Eidolon and his companies headed for the gate. At his order, his devastator squad began to attack the gates and the ramparts. killing the soldiers that had taken their dead comrades' places. This was turning into a rout. Kevates roared for order, and, despite the cacophony from beyond the walls and the panicked sounds of the Imperial Army, his words were heard by all.

 **"You are people of Ultramar! Find the steel within yourselves to go to the enemy, and face them with honour and courage! Many of us will lose their lives, but so long as one Imperial Army officer and one Astarte stand when the last of these monsters falls, Calth will be saved."** He pointed to the gates. **"Take heart in that you are not alone, that the Space Wolves and the Ultramarines stand with you! Make me proud, make yourselves proud, and show these helldamned fallen abominations that we will not be scared or run like frightened children. We are all children of Ultramar, Astarte and civilian alike! Show the enemy what that means!"**

Sergeant Olaf nodded and inclined his head as the Imperial Army and civilians did as they were ordered, albeit in many cases because they were eager to be away from the captain's wrath.

"Nicely put, Captain. We will hold the gates."

"Your captain, cousin..."

"Died with the honour of the Wolves and - " he pointed as the last Space Wolf setting up by the gate held the tattered banner - "our honour and history still fly."

Kevates gripped Olaf's wrist, gauntlet to gauntlet, and remained that way for a moment or two before both returned to their men. He began to order his company into positions along the central roadway that would lead to the government buildings. The gate would fall, there was no question about it, but if they had a few moments to gather themselves it would give the tired and exhausted humans a moment's respite. He passed the makeshift medicae centre and paused to see the medics working on the wounded. Perhaps a quarter of them might survive, if the city could hold.

"Captain...my Lord." The head nurse looked up at the giant in blue power armour. "We need to move the wounded to the government district. As soon as the Emperor's Children get in here..." her voice trailed, as if to emphasis the point.

Kevates nodded in agreement. The sons of Fulgrim were committing atrocities upon the dead, but the living were of far greater concern.

 **++Sergeant Parase, bring your squad to the medicae tent and begin aiding the doctors with taking the wounded from here to the government buildings. For those who will not make it... give them peace.++**

 **++Understood, Brother-Captain.++**

He told the nurse what he had done. Although she wanted to rebel at the idea, even she saw the reasoning behind it. She thanked him and started organising her staff and the patients. Kevates had read her expression perfectly. She wanted to save who she could, but not everyone could be saved, not in practicals like these. He sympathised with her, but better they know eternal peace now than die at the hands of those debased bastards.

He walked on, then stopped as a great shadow fell over the land. Everyone had stopped what they were doing and could only watch as the shape came closer to earth. At first there was no sound, as even the noise beyond the walls had stopped; then, as if pulled by something greater than gravity, the sound of the falling bow of the _Macragge's Honour_ began to plummet faster.

To plummet, whether by coincidence or by design, directly upon Numinus City.

Kevates began to run, warning everyone to find shelter away from the gates.

* * *

The noise that had started as a faint rumble got louder and louder until it was almost deafening. Sergeant Parase held a nurse in his giant arms and handed her to one of his battle-brothers, fatigue having taken its toll. He looked up and knew that they would not escape this. He told his men to take whomever they could and the other medics to run.

Going back into the tent, he saw the head nurse with those that were unable to be moved. He removed his helm and set it on his belt.

"Ma'am, it is time to leave. The debris will be upon us shortly."

"I am not leaving, sergeant." She walked up to him. "I have been a nurse for all my life; I have served the Ultramarines and Primarch faithfully. But I am an old woman and my time has come. I will not leave these poor souls to die alone, I owe them that much."

Parase heard the rumbling get to thunder pitch and felt her hand in his, although his hand dwarfed it.

"Go to you men, sergeant. The Primarch keep you safe."

"I fear, Mistress... I don't even know you name."

"Jekena."

"Mistress Jekena, I fear that I will not make the rendezvous no matter how fast I run." He looked around him, coming to peace with his two centuries of service. "Tell me what I can do."

She nodded and walked with him to the rest of the patients. A few moments later, the bow of the _Macragge's Honour_ crashed into the courtyard. It remained upright for a few moments, burying itself directly downwards; then, with a noise like the drums of a million bands, it swayed and finally collapsed.

The men and women on the walls died instantly, cut to pieces by the flying shards of armour that had come loose. Others were crushed by the shockwave, like walls and buildings alike. Fires were set, and fuel lines exploded. The medicae centre was at ground zero, and Jekena died with a Space Marine's arms wrapped around her to try and protect her, as futile as it was.

However, as much damage as was done to the city, the attackers fared no better. Indeed, unprotected by any fortifications, they fared far worse. The Emperor's Children at the gates died as their armour incinerated and cooked them alive. Dreadnoughts were crushed as the mighty bow fell to the ground, leaving a crater that would forever stain the surface of Calth. It was like a benediction from the gods, a justification for the renegade forces to continue the fight against the mad Emperor.

Lord Commander Eidolon was crucified upon a great eagle that had broken off the flagship's bow, the beak erupting through his chest and his arms pinned by the wings. Seeing their Lord Commander lifeless and dead, the surviving Emperor's Children had no one left to either guide them or keep them in check. Clambering over the thousands of bodies that littered the crash site, they began to stream into the city like rain, to be met by the force of Space Wolves, Ultramarines, and humans that had been protected in the bunkers and shielded buildings of the city.

 **"AND THEY SHALL KNOW NO FEAR!"**

 **"COURAGE AND HONOUR!"**

 **"FOR RUSS AND FENRIS!"**

Seeing how their mighty flagship had done her duty in her final hours bolstered the defending forces, and the Emperor's Children, thinned and disorganized, never stood a chance.

It was midnight by the time the fighting stopped. Olaf knelt down beside Kevates and finally sat, both Astartes exhausted. They had lost many of their companies, but of the Emperor's Children there were none left. Their bodies littered the battlefield and the city streets. They had taken huge swathes of civilians with them; some had gone into people's homes and slaughtered entire families before dying themselves.

Kevates, minus his left arm and right leg, looked to the heavens and breathed deeply as an Apothecary rushed over and started tending to his captain.

"I think I will sleep for a week, my friend," Olaf chuckled, "but I will be needed elsewhere. How many, I wonder, have we lost this day?"

"Too many," Kevates breathed. "But, as the Sons of Horus say, the enemy felt the hand of the ship... and what a hand it was."

Olaf laughed and got to his feet. "Good luck, son of Gulliman; may we meet again one day."

"You too, son of Russ."


	10. Chapter Eight

Marius Gage and his assembled Ultramarines could only watch in horror as not one flagship was destroyed by the Emperor's Children, but two. He cast a glance in The Wolf King's direction, to see Russ's expression as a tautly simmering fury that bordered on the volcanic.

Gage wanted to mourn his brothers, honour his cousins... but time would not allow them to do so. The Celestial Lions were heading towards what was left of the Calth Anchor Veridian, and the theoretical had been for Russ to join them. Still, so fighting with his own emotions, Gage could not quite force himself to distract Russ as the primarch stared into the heavens for an indeterminable amount of time. There was nothing that could be said to soothe his choler, nor those of his sons around him, and so the atmosphere just grew murderous.

The _Hrafnkel_ had not just been any battleship; she had been to the Rout as the _Macragge's Honour_ was to the Ultramarines, or the _Vengeful Spirit_ to the Sons of Horus, an inhabited symbol of their Legion's prowess. But whatever the future costs of the loss, here in the moment the Wolves had only become more lethal for it. And as the Wolf King finally turned to join the Celestial Lions, Gage was very glad to be on the same side as his uncle right now.

* * *

Fulgrim stood overlooking the city, Demeter and Vespasian beside him. He had watched as his sons degenerated into a shameful rabble. When the bow of the _Macragge's Honour_ had plummeted to earth, he had not done anything, not even announced his presence; he soon would, but for now the rebels required a false sense of security. He had already planned this out. Even now, the sons he trusted were waiting for his orders, and his spies had recently found the underground caverns which Calth was partly famous for. Still, it was not enough, not really, not yet. He wanted Calth to suffer.

At that moment, interrupting his strategic musings, something - he did not know what, but that was no shame anymore - made him look skywards. There was another presence, he knew, not just the Wolf. Guilliman? No, he knew intuitively - it was another Primarch, but whether a friend or a foe he could not tell. Or perhaps the time was simply not proper for him to be capable of such.

He touched his vox and spoke some orders into it. Then, he returned to watching the scene below him, his eyes focusing on the crucified form of his former favoured son.

"Fitting, don't you think?" he said to no one in particular.

"Father?" Solomon Demeter turned his head to face his father.

"I was just thinking, Solomon - it is fitting that Eidolon face such a fate, an inspiration to the rabble that would never fall in line." He shook his head to clear the paranoia that threatened to overwhelm him. "So, the plans?"

"Third Company have circled around the city; they will cut off the Space Wolves. 29th Company are in position at the township of Nicodem, a supply line for the Ultramarines and will destroy any and all reinforcements." Vespasian knew full well that the Primarch already had the plans memorized better than him, having set them out, but only wanted to see how much his commanders had listened to his lengthy briefing before they departed.

Fulgrim listened as the Lord Commander informed him of the other companies and where they were, then cautiously told the Primarch that reports indicated Russ was with the Ultramarines and his sons.

"Ah, Leman... he should have joined Father's crusade. That man has ice in his veins, but it is ice-iota." Fulgrim smiled a little. "If Fenris has a temper, than it is embodied mildly in the sons of Fenris and their human armies, but manifests fully in my brother. He is everything about Fenris - powerful, violent, feral, and completely unpredictable. It will be my pleasure to face him on the field of battle. No one can tame Leman Russ; he is the great wolf, a loner, Fenris walking... But what cannot be tamed can nevertheless be reduced to ash."

Vespasian cocked his head as a communication came through. Frowning a little, he turned to his father, a quizzical expression on his face. "My Lord, the _Perfection of the Phoenician_ has arrived. Tavius says all the children and their appointed guardians are aboard and awaiting your orders."

"Good. Tell them to leave the system and Ultramar to the designated rendezvous point. At no point are they to enter any battle." Fulgrim pulled his cloak around him with a flourish,then chuckled a little and leaned down towards Demeter. "Do you know, Solomon, I do believe that Eidolon is still alive. Oh, it must be painful. Though that he is enjoying every blood-aching part of it, I have no doubt."

Demeter believed that Eidolon would, but the question remained if they would let him live or grant him a measure of undesired mercy due to his former status within the Legion. Demeter hoped for the former: he had no wish to see Eidolon granted any kind of mercy.

As if reading his thoughts, Fulgrim patted his shoulder pauldron. "Worry not, Solomon, worry not. We have better things to do than getting him down. Well, let us begin; I want that city to die by sunrise!"

 **"For Fulgrim!** " Demeter roared. " **For the Emperor!** "

 **"Death to their foes!** " the shout came back, and again Emperor's Children swarmed the walls of Numinus City, but this time they were a force to be reckoned with. Unlike their drug-addled brothers, they were the Emperor's Children to be feared. It pleased Fulgrim, too, that his sons were now putting his name first above the Emperors.

All was as it should be.

* * *

Kevates heard the shout from his medical bed. He cursed; how could they have been so complacent? He should have known there would be a backup force. Damn it, it was one of the first lessons he had learnt at the barracks on Macragge. His old sergeant would be scolding him until his gene-seed turned red from the ear bashing. This was an unforgivable oversight on his part and, if he somehow survived this, he would assign himself a punishment, unless the Chapter Master preferred his own. All that, though, was a concern for another time, if any.

Especially as there was something in - all around him, he began to hear the weeping of humans. Had they fallen into that melancholy that had attacked them before? No, this was different. Then he heard it. That seranic voice - so authoritative, so calm, like a sugary sauce over an adored sweet.

He had to fight the compulsion to kneel; every Astarte that was around fought the compulsion to kneel, their minds at war with their souls. When one came into the company of a primarch, no matter who it was, one honoured them unconsciously, for they were the spirit of the Imperium, the Emperor's genetic magnificence incarnate. But Fulgrim no longer deserved their honour or their respect, and Kevates focused on his hate, hoping it would give him strength.

It did not. Between the Phoenician's aura, the painkillers, and his wounds, he felt impotent; he could barely move, could do nothing, until he felt a strong arm around his waist and was lifted. It was Sergeant Oren. "The Emperor's Children are here, lord, as is their Primarch. He is calling for surrender as they kill the civilians."

"Get me out there Oren, we will fight to the last, he does not deserve our honour or our respect!"

"He is a Primarch, lord," Oren stated the obvious.

Kevates would hear none of it.

"And as has been proven, Primarchs can fall." He thought of Jaghatai and Magnus. "They can fall."

* * *

The First Company swept through the half-fallen city like a plague of locusts. They were not the debauched and altered brothers that had attacked before; no, as far as they were concerned, this battle was fought with perfection. Fulgrim led them, and he stirred them onto far greater heights than any god could have.

Several Ultramarines launched an attack on the Primarch, but, had they been toe-to-toe with their cousins, their deaths would have bought more. Going head-on against a Primarch was something that went well past reckless. Fulgrim, however, did not treat them as such, weeping as he slaughtered them. Some of them even got a lucky strike at him, but it did them no good.

Fulgrim wept because, in a previous life, he had fought alongside his brave nephews. Now they had turned against all that was right with the Imperium. They would not turn from their course of action, and he admired that, even as he decapitated them, the stoic defence of what they believed in, false and empty though it was.

He even admired the civilian fighters, although they really stood no chance against the transhuman warriors that crushed their skulls or opened their insides to the flies that would later feast on their rotting corpses. His presence had given his sons the fire they needed and, in a way, had given them an additional advantage. Humans could not be in the presence of a Primarch for too long; they lost all will of their own when confronted with such perfection.

Kevates, his sergeant helping him, fired his bolter cleanly and precisely, each shot a kill shot. Three mags down, four left. Oran reloaded for him, then continued his own fusilade. By now, his squad had come to their captain's aid. Kevates was resting his back against a burnt-out Rhino, the dust wrenched up from the crashing wreckage earlier coating everything, so that even the pristine blue of the Ultramarines' shining armour was now something that would be better suited to the Death Guard or Iron Warriors.

They killed and were killed, but Kevates and his sergeant, with the three remaining of Squad Oran, continued fighting, and when their weapons ran dry they used the weapons of the dead. Slowly the remaining Ultramarines gathered where Oran and their beloved captain were making their last stand. Vespasian tore them aside, revelling in the clarity of the battle; brutal or no, this was perfection, an enemy that made it an honour to fight... but it would be the primarch who won the day.

He sank to one knee as an Assault Marine fired at him from above, shattering something in his left knee. Vespasian muttered something in Chemosian and aimed his bolter, then fired, hitting the jump pack at its most vulnerable seam and sending the assault marine spiralling out of control into the wall of the Calth Arbites building. The ensuing explosion incinerated not only the Assault Marine, but the Arbites that were underneath attempting to defend their barracks.

The smell of burnt flesh and armour was, surely, overpowering for those lesser mortals - it was almost overwhelming even to the Astartes - and hung in the air to an extent that reminded the Lord Commander of the aftermath of a World Eater battle. Although he would never compare his father's battles to those of a dog like Angron, the carnage was the same. His Larraman cells did their job, and he was soon on his feet once more, along with Demeter and the primarch, leading by example. He and Demeter fell into place besides their father as he cut and thrust bodies like they were prime meat joints in a butcher's shop, before eventually they got to the remaining Ultramarines, gathered around their captain and the body of the dead Sergeant Oran.

Demeter used everything in his arsenal, including his newly awakened psyker powers, while Kevates was on his last shell and knew he had to make this count. Aiming at the First Captain, he fired, his aim as perfect as ever. Impossibly fast, Demeter swerved, but it still hit his eye and took it out. It didn't matter, Demeter decided - he had another one. Drawing the Laeran sword, the one that Fulgrim had held in his possession for so long and now belonged to him, he plunged it through the captain's chest. Around him, his men and the Primarch killed the rest.

"Bravely fought, cousin," he remarked. "I needed this battle; but whilst I will go on, you have failed. Your Primarch's teachings were not enough, I am afraid; this is perfection."

"Go to hell, Demeter!" Kevates winced and drove his own sword into the thigh of the First Captain, though his failing strength left it only a shallow cut. "Julius was right all along."

With a snarl at the mention of the traitors name, Demeter pulled the corrupted sword and cut Kevates' head off. He closed his eyes as arterial blood sprayed his face and heaved a sigh. In death, the Ultramarine had managed one victory, that of succesfully ruining his mood. His bastard brother was here, somewhere on this blighted world.

* * *

The Celestial Lions stared as the remnants of the Calth Veridian Tower came cascading down, like a huge doh-meno rack. The bodies of Emperor's Children and Ultramarines were thrown onto the ground, turning the dirt a dark and murky red. Shattered armour lay scattered about, surrounding the broken bodies.

Kaesoron identified each and every one of his erstwhile brothers, warriors of the 13th Company of the Emperor's Children. Davars stood beside him and shook his head.

"That's an awful lot of brothers for the context," he muttered.

Kaesoron said nothing, his thoughts mainly along the lines of the new Second Captain. They bowed their heads as Russ and his retinue joined them. The Wolf King looked around at the dead and took in what his eyes were seeing.

"We will scour around the ruins to the north," he told them. "I will leave you to deal with this area. Good hunting, nephew."

"You too, Lord Russ." Julius bowed his head once more and watched the Primarch stride away to the far ruins. He ordered his captains to other areas of the shattered remains. The orders were clear and simple - kill any and all of their traitorous brothers they could find. There was to be no hesitation in this, and if any felt that they could not complete their own personal road to redemption, then they were to return to the Primarch without recourse.

No one moved.

Taking First Company with him, the Lion of Chemos made his way into the main structure and readied his bolter. Astartes were tough to kill, and not all of them would be dead. Plus, he hadn't seen the scarred captain of the Thirteenth; he hoped the bastard had been blown into space or something, but even that wouldn't have necessarily killed him.

He waited for the brothers with him to fan out. The central column had made the place a jigsaw of metal pylons. It was hard to believe that this was just one of many structures that had overseen the comings and goings of void traffic into Calth space. As they made their way through the wreckage, scanning for any movement that would give them an early warning of attack and stepping over shattered and broken bodies, the Lion of Chemos wondered how many more of the growing sub-orbital ring would be destroyed.

He didn't want to think about it. If it happened, and he expected that it would, they could rebuild later. Right now, he wanted to make sure that there were no more of his wayward brothers around. And despite the hopes he admitted to himself, some part of him hoped that he would find Lucius alive, for he owed him one for what he had done to Tarvitz.

* * *

The darkness was broken by the blinding light of the rising sun. "Brother-Captain, Brother-Captain, can you hear me?"

Lucius groaned, pulling a large piece of metal from his shoulder and throwing it down. Every part of him ached, most in dull and uninvigorating fashion, but he was alive; something or someone had kept him thus. He let his vision adjust to see Sergeant Isole hold his hand out. He took it and was pulled to his feet.

"Can you walk, Captain?"

Aside from the feeling of pins and needles in his feet, he could without issue; a quick check of his systems assured him that any broken bones had healed. He nodded and stepped out from under his prison.

"How many are left?" he asked, brushing his armour down.

"I do not know, Captain. I asked for a full head count; so far four hundred brothers have answered, but some may be unconscious. Many of us died in space. Lord - I saw another vessel firing at our wounded..."

So it hadn't been a dream. It hadn't been a hallucination. He didn't answer at first, but, as his memory replayed the events leading to the destruction around him, one thing was certain: they had been left to die.

Lucius wanted out of this now, but first he had to gather whomever he could. Four hundred of them; enough to take out a human community, not enough to go against their cousins. He ordered the men to make their way towards his location and sat on a parallelipipedal bit of wreckage.

He wanted to make sure that his thoughts were clear before he voiced them. There was a voice at the back of his mind, urging him to usurp the authority he had been under for nearly two centuries. Right now, it was getting louder and louder, more and more difficult to ignore, or even to believe that he _should_ do so.

He waited as the remnants of his company joined him, some being aided by their brothers, others with a look of sheer despondency on their faces. All had dented armor, most with chunks of ceramite broken off.

"Brothers, it pains me to tell you this, but we have been betrayed. Not by our enemies, but by our own father." He got to his feet. "Our orders were to kill the watchtower, then return to the _Pride of The Emperor_. We were left to die; the _Pride of the Emperor_ refused to pick us up, as they had bigger fish to fry."

"Brother-Captain perhaps you read it wrong - our father would never leave us..."

"I got the message myself, Veroc. The Primarch is clearing house. We, as loyal followers of the Dark Prince, have no place in his newly ordered vision. So we will head for the nearest intact spaceport, get a vessel, and get the hell out of here. We shall recuperate, and then when we return... we shall wreck an exquisite revenge on those that betrayed us, more beautiful than Lavetia's towers, more cruel than Aennar's judgment."

The warriors gathered and closed their eyes. Once they had been warriors proud to call themselves the Sons of Fulgrim, but now they were pawns in a bigger game. Their father's drive for perfection had never been lost on them; it was one of the most important tenets in their history. But where once he would have avenged any son of his who died, now he was culling them, as Lorgar had done with his Legion, as Vulkan had done with his, and so on and so forth. Fulgrim sought to sacrifice them.

This was not right! They had not defected to the Warmaster. They had killed their own brothers in the beginning for daring to voice that the Emperor had gone mad. They had gone to see Lord Commander Fabius and been altered to fit in with the new direction of the Legion. And this was their reward now? Now, they were being used as scapegoats and cannon fodder in the Primarch's drive for absolute power. Lucius read their thoughts as echoes of his own thoughts. He had killed his best friend to keep the Primarch's dream alive, but while he hadn't cared when he pulled the trigger on Saul, now he keenly missed his advice. As regimented as he was, Saul spoke sense when he felt the need to listen.

They formed a line as Lucius got down from his perch. He drew his sword and gripped it. "Let us leave. As to anyone who gets in our way... Emperor's Children who are anything other than of our beloved company die just like the enemy."

* * *

The Celestial Lions First Company moved silently through what had been the entrance hall, the sheer size and scale of the building now scattered memories. They walked over the bodies that had been crushed or eviscerated by falling debris. The Lion of Chemos could see, too, the shattered and ruined vehicles on the concourse. Judging by the corpses that were piled around, few of them had been reached by their crew.

He stopped as the creaking of the metal gave him pause. It was a wounded beast struggling against the inevitable. At some point it was going to give up the struggle.

 **++My lord.++** Krysander's voice came across his private vox.

 **++Petor?++**  
 **  
++We are not alone here; movement tracked on the ruined third level.++**

 **++Surviving humans? Ultramarines?++** He hoped so; after seeing their glorious flagship destroyed, the sons of Guilliman needed a shot of hope in the arm.

 **++No, lord,++** Krysander's voice lowered, **++I believe not.++**  
 **  
++Have everyone move back into cover, lets see who it is.++** Although, judging by the caution in Krysander's voice, he really did not need to guess. Every Celestial Lion moved into the shadows and waited. Eventually, dented and battered power-armoured bodies jumped down from the second and third level. Kaesoron's eyes narrowed as his armour network told him who he was looking at.

The image of Saul Tarvitz saving his life flashed through his memory and, with a leonine roar, he moved out from his cover and shoulder-barged an already wounded Lucius in the back. If it had been ordinary power armour, Lucius might have been uninjured, but in full-plate terminator armour, what Kaesoron lacked in speed he more than made up for in power.

At the sign from their Chapter Master, the First Company opened fire, cutting down their former brothers with no hesitation. The room was filled with the sounds of flamers sizzling, bolter fire, and chainswords rising and falling, cutting through meat, bone, sinew, and power armour.

The Chapter Master held Lucius by his neck and made him watch as every one of his brothers died.

"This!" Julius snarled. "This is for what your Company did to those poor bastards who worked here, and this is for what you did to Saul!"

"Saul was one of Fulgrim's favoured!" Lucius growled, his indifference to the fate of his men not lost on the Chapter Master. "He was going to betray Fulgrim, just as Fulgrim betrayed us. You were right in that much, Julius." Lucius looked up at him, his face a mass of criss-crossed scars and blood, his nose broken once more. "But they are looking for you. They want your head".

"I shall gladly let them try," Julius snarled. Picking Lucius up, he threw him across the debris-splattered hall.

"Fulgrim is here."

"I don't care!" Julius roared, then moved towards the wounded Thirteenth Captain.

Lucius had never seen such fury on the former First Captain's face. It was quite exhilarating in its way, but he did not revel in the emotion, knowing he was going to be killed if he did not get away. Suddenly, he was lifted in the air and pulled aboard a shuttle, a battered and bruised warrior of the Thirteenth looked down at him.

Lucius could have kissed him there and then. A hundred men - they must have come to further away from the ruined main entrance. Their bolter fire sprayed around the Chapter Master, kicking up dirt and pinging off his massive Terminator Armour.

 **++I will have you, Lucius, one day I will have you!++**

 **++Better luck next time, Julius dear!++**

Julius cursed a thousand curses in all the languages he knew. He removed his helm and threw it to the ground in frustration. Breathing through his clenched teeth, he watched the shuttle until it was out of sight.

Lucius lay back on the floor and let the Apothecary tend to him. He looked around at his company. A hundred men, that was all he had left. Damn the Emperor, damn Saul Tarvitz, and most of all, damn Fulgrim.

 _ **Do you accept me in full now, Lucius? Do you accept all I have to offer you, the gifts that, should you prove worthy, will come to be yours?**_

Lucius nodded to himself and growled deep in his throat, without a moment's hesitation. "Yes, I do!"

In his mind, the laughter of a thirsting god drowned out his own thoughts and feelings.

* * *

The Space Wolves, led by their father, scoured the ruins to the north. The damage here was just as visual as at the impact site of the Veridian Anchor, except that it was spread over a wider area. There was nothing for them to achieve here.

The crackling came over his vox as static at first. Then, once it cleared, he heard it - Olaf's voice, calling for reinforcements at the township of Nicodem.

 **++How many?++** Russ demanded. **++Olaf, can you hear me, how many?++**

 **++My Lord?++** The relief in the Space Wolf's voice was evident, and he recovered himself quickly. **++I am down to less than two thousand men. The Emperor's Children have taken Numinus and... and there are no survivors. They have the entire first company with them, Titans, and, father... Fulgrim is with them.++  
**  
Russ's eyes lit up and a feral snarl erupted from his throat. Fulgrim, that posing, art-loving fanatic. He remembered how Fulgrim had lorded it over his sons, his people and himself. He called the children of Fenris barbaric, which was to an extent true, but also that their mindset was so completely focused on violence that he was surprised any of them had crawled out of the primordial soup in the first place. In Fulgrim's eyes, Russ was nothing more than the Emperor's attack dog, an uncouth and boring fool. The Vlka Fenryka were content to let the Imperium look down on them in many ways, but there were lines, and of late Fulgrim had been crossing them more and more, moving from underestimation to sheer disrespect. Now, Russ was going to pay him back for those insults. If Chemos had been the harsh death world that Fenris was, where life was a constant struggle against the elements and every lifeform that called it home, he might not have been so up his own arse about things.

He turned as the Celestial Lions made their way towards him. Good - Julius would come with him. Where Russ knew Fulgrim as a brother would, Julius so knew his sons.

 **++I am on my way, Olaf, hold the township.++**

 **++By your command, Father.++**

Russ listened as Julius told him about the events at the entryway and what Lucius had said.

"Do you believe him?"

"Lucius will say and do anything to further his aims," Julius replied with spite. "Once upon a time, he was a brother you could trust, though too cocksure of himself even then. He even insulted the Mournival once, and got his nose broken by Loken. But in time, his vanity collapsed on him and he became more self-centred than he ever had been. And the more ambitious he became, the less he did his duty to even the Legion. Still, he is the best living swordsman in the Emperor's Children, after Fulgrim that is. But as much as I detest the idiot, on this I believe him. Fulgrim is clearing house; he wants those only loyal to him to survive this arena, and if he manages to inflict great damage on the Ultramarines and the Rout then so be it, another feather in his cap."

The Primarch let his wolves off their leash and began to stride towards his next goal and his appointed battle. One way or another, Fulgrim was going to regret what he had started here.

* * *

The Primarch watched as the _Beta_ came into view. His command throne was raised above the master's seat; normally he wouldn't dream of usurping the Master's authority without tactical cause, but on this occasion, it seemed fitting enough, considering the message he had received on a Primarch channel.

He watched as a Thunderhawk made its way across and, rising from his seat, motioned to Forrix to follow him. They entered the hangar bay just as the Thunderhawk was settling down. The Comrade didn't like the things; they were too bulky, not as streamlined as the Stormbird. Still, with Manus taking over Mars and the galaxy rent to pieces, supply was difficult enough even for him. He had to accept them for his own Legion. He could imagine how some of the others, with fewer ties to the Mechanicum and less logistical self-reliance, felt.

The ramp lowered and he watched as Forrix and the rest of the Trident, along with the rest of the hangar bay, suddenly went down on one knee. The figure emerged, taller than the rest of his Legion, a Primarch.

"Alpharius...wait." Perturabo frowned a little, knowing a mismatch when he saw one. "Omegon?"

"Yes, brother." Omegon wore a Primarch's armour, one that he had rarely worn, one that had remained hidden as part of the Emperor's great design. "I am Omegon, Primarch of the Alpha Legion and twin brother to Alpharius."

Perturabo's eyes widened a little, the puzzle sliding into place, all - well, some of - the mystery that had surrounded the Last Legion. When he thought about it, it made sense.

"Where is Alpharius?"

"Gone to serve the Emperor." Omegon looked around him. "Honour is received. Thank you."

Perturabo stepped towards Omegon and held out his hand. The younger twin Primarch took and pulled him into a welcome hug, which Perturabo, after a moments hesitation, decided to return.

"We have much to discuss." Perturabo stepped back, his hands on his lost brother's shoulders. "Namely why let Alpharius rule when in truth it should have been both of you."

"In a sense it was, for we took each other's place often enough, but Alpharius was the eldest and therefore seen as the master of the Legion."

Perturabo dismissed his Triach and told Forrix to make the honour guard of the Alpha Legion comfortable, then led Omegon away. Forrix walked over to a warrior dressed in the armour of the Effrit Squad.

"Twins?" he asked. "The Alpha Legion was led by twins?"

"Not anymore," Captain Ungaro Secht rumbled before removing his helm.

"So your commander was in fact a Primarch. Did you all know about this?"

"Of course we did; it was what made us how we are... but now, cousin, the rules have gone out the window. Alpharius has taken half the Legion and fought his own twin to rejoin the Emperor's side. Omegon remains with the Warmaster."

Forrix walked with the captain. "Come, cousin, we have much to talk about ourselves, and I have a new wine I would share with you."

Secht smirked a little. He, like all the Alpha Legion, took after their Primarchs. The same facial structure, the only difference being that whilst the Primarchs had the same coppery tinge to their skin, the Legionnaires retained the many colors of their homeworlds. Forrix immediately reached a rapport with the captain, and the two walked ahead of the others, engaged in their own conversation.

* * *

Perturabo listened in sheer disbelief as the Primarch told him what had happened aboard the _Alpha_. Alpharius, unable to reconcile his loyalty to the Emperor with his loyalty to the Warmaster, if there had ever been such a thing, ordered that the Alpha Legion link up with the Word Bearers and eventually join the Emperor. Omegon, still haunted by the battle on Racas and what had been lurking there, disagreed, and not for the first time, the brothers came to blows. But this time, the scar on his face showed it had been an entirely different level of disagreement. If it were not for the Effrit squad who took their beloved commander back to the _Beta_ , Omegon would be dead and Alpharius would have returned to the Emperor half a Legion stronger.

Perturabo rubbed his jaw a little. Subterfuge and guile was the strong point of the Alpha Legion, more so than even the Raven Guard, but he sensed no lie, no deception, just a Primarch wanting to reconcile with his brothers and keep the Imperium as it had been rather than what the Emperor would have it become. He told the Shipmaster to head for the location of the _Vengeful Spirit_ , knowing Horus ought to know next.

"Will you still call yourselves the Alpha Legion?" Perturabo asked.

"I do not know yet. We took that name for a reason, but like with everything else, nothing is certain anymore."

Perturabo remained silent. There was still so much to learn about the Alpha Legion. For one, none knew from where they hailed, if they even had a homeworld or if there was a darker side to their creation. With one mystery solved, several more took its place. But for now, what mattered was gaining and gauging his brother's trust. He did, though, feel honoured that Omegon had sought him out first.

It was yet another first step, and the prevalence of those was at least a slight thread of hope in this mad tapestry.

* * *

The _Pride of the Emperor_ sat at the center of the Emperor's Children formation around Calth aflame. She almost glowed with pride at her destruction, over the past hours, of the flagships of two Legions; the victory laurels would hang in the Heliopolis after this battle would be amongst her greatest yet, the victory a perfect fusion of the Legion that was and the Legion that would be. She continued an overwatch role as the Emperor's Children fleet decimated the other defences, silencing the mighty guns with only a few losses, none that would alter the fact that the Emperor's Children had cut Calth off from any other world of Ultramar. The deaths of thousands of workers, Astartes, and Mechanicum adepts ensured that the Warp was bulging in the name of the Dark Prince.

Fulgrim would be pleased with what his mighty vessel had wrought. She was the stishovite apse of the Emperor's vast arsenal, and after this war was won, her battle-honours would rival the _Phalanx_ in superiority within the Imperial fleet. As the last defence fell, he ordered that his ship be moved over the city of Guilliman. This was where the majority of the Ultramarines were stationed, ready to do battle, ready to die.

He would give them that wish. He ordered that, once they were in position, a targeting solution be found to find the weak spots in the crust of the planet, just enough to destroy the capital despite the shells of shielding defending it. It would not be easy, but the euphoria of victory did not allow Desenius to even contemplate failure.

"My lord."

He turned his head lazily towards the helmswoman. "What?"

"My lord, the _Andronius_ has gone."

"She is attaining her position."

"No, my lord... she is nowhere in sight. She is gone."

Desenius rose from his command throne and moved to the holo-map, looking at the runes that indicated the rest of the Emperor's Children fleet, but the helms-woman was correct: of the _Andronius_ , there was no sign, her rune merely vanishing.

Then another, the _Yvona Chemosii_ , and then the _Tullea,_ the name of Fulgrims adoptive mother gone. Something out there was hunting them, though there were no alarms, no call for aid. Whoever was out there hunted like the perfect predator. Unseen, unhindered, and quick. A worthy challenge.

The vox officer informed him that there was a message for him. He nodded, wondering if it was a captain of the missing vessels, still too upbeat to contemplate worse. It wasn't, but the voice that came across the vox sent ice-born chills down the spine of every mortal on board, and though fear was not a word used for Astartes, this voice gave even them pause.

"Lord Commander Desenius," the tone spoke like a deep grave, "we have come for you."

Before the Lord Commander could react, stunned by the words of a Legion that was one of their own, the _Nightfall_ came into view.

Then, and only then, Desenius reacted, half with the hope of adding a third flagship kill to the day, half with the panic of utter strategic confusion.

 **"Ready all weapons! Raise void shields! Take that cadaverous bastard out!"**

As the crew rushed to respond to their Lord Commander, Desenius began to wonder whether the Night Lords had finally gone mad, overstepped their already blood soaked path, or if the Emperor had sent them to punish the Primarch and his sons for a reason even he did not know of. But his place was the same, either way.

"Get a message to the Primarch, tell him that the Night Haunter is here and attacking us!"

"I am trying, lord." The vox officer's voice was laced with more than a little panic. "But our communications are blocked."

Desenius swore and retook his command throne, his gauntleted hands gripping the arm rests. Still awakening into full battle-readiness, he remembered to tell the Apothecaries to be ready for casualties, but received no answer.

"Bile!"

Still no answer; and when an answer did come, it was his senior Captain, Kelson.

"The Apothecaries left on the _Perfection of the Phoenician_ , my Lord Commander."

"What? Who ordered that? I was told to ensure the children and their guardians left the vessel, no one else!"

Kelson had no answer, but Desenius knew; he didn't want to admit it to anyone, but he knew. That slithering worm Bile had taken the opportunity to go with the children.

Unless... the more he thought about it the more it seemed to fit.

The _Pride of the Emperor_ was Fulgrim's ship, his pride and joy. The contingency had not seemed important at the time, in a space battle as imposing as this one it was only natural that the Primarch would want to protect his Legions future, but - had Fulgrim known? They said that the sons of the Emperor could sense when one of their brothers was around. Did the Primarch know that the Night Lords' father was here?

A horrible feeling sat in the pit of his stomach. The last tine he had felt like this was as a boy, when his sister had been killed alongside his parents, when he had been found he was over the dead body of the murderer that had taken their lives. The day his mortal life ended and his new life began as a son of Fulgrim. Now, it was the same feeling over again refolded and redoubled upon itself, a man betraying his childhood, a Primarch betraying his sons. Was the Primarch so paranoid that he saw treason where there was none? It was a question that he committed himself to asking even if, like Verona, it cost him his head. Right now, he had another flagship to contend with, and not just any flagship -

Desenius's mind was cast back to his childhood, and forward to his Legion's fate, and swirling with both highest pride and deepest fear; and so it was not on the battle around him, including those aspects of it that should have been obvious to even a lesser tactician.

The _Nightfall_ was not alone. Even as Desenius readied himself for battle, his screen lit up with several more vessels coming into formation around their father's vessel.

"Oh."

* * *

Guilliman City had already finished its preparations for defence. Marius Gage inspected the walls personally; here and there, he altered a few positions, but all in all everything seemed perfect. He knew that fighting a war against a Legion such as the Emperor's Children had become was going to descend into a collage of broken plans, but he would not allow it to do any worse. They had already lost too much these last couple of weeks.

He was joined by Princeps Tyros and his brothers. Briefly but fully, the Princeps outlined his plans for battle. Gage stopped him mid-flow. "You will be needed for defence, Tyros, until I say otherwise."

"With all due respect, Chapter Master, my Warhounds are ready to take the fight to them."

"With all due respect, Princeps, I need the Warhounds here. I do not know if they have Titans with them, or Knights, or other siege machines; until I say otherwise, you will cover the Ultramarines on the lines."

The Princeps swallowed his retort and bowed his head stiffly, then walked away with his comrades, muttering under his breath. Gage respected the Titan brotherhoods and sisterhoods, but sometimes their aloofness made him want to curse. They always thought they were better than the common soldier, sometimes they thought they were better than the Astartes, and all too often that led to the assumption they were above their orders as well. He supposed that being in command of a mighty machine like a Titan made them think like that, or even required it to retain control; but he had seen too many allies fall to pride, notably the Legion they now were fighting. He would not have anyone under his command be too prideful to take on menial tasks as they saw it. Every task had its import, and the sooner Princeps Tyros and his people knew that, the better. He continued with his inspection. The Space Wolf jarl, Bjorn, was looking over the rise. Gage joined his side and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Something caught your attention, Bjorn?"

Bjorn nodded but still remained silent, every so often sniffing the air as if processing something that was beyond even Marius's enhanced senses. Then again, the Space Wolves had senses that could boggle those outside the Rout. Like the animals they took their name from, they could be both perceptive and brutal, both in a pack and alone. Barbarians they may have been, but sometimes their violence was needed in battles like this. For this would be no battle fought by Ultramarine standards, that much was certain, especially if the battle of Carenn was anything to go by.

Gage was fuming on the inside, buteven he was not sure who he was more angry at. The Emperor's Children for all the destruction they wrought? Reports had come in, informing him that the orbital ring was in ruins and, if they survived this, it would take years to repair. The Emperor, for turning the tenements of the Crusade upside down? Or - or the Primarch? Not for deciding to argue with the Warmaster over a second Imperium when they hadn't finished saving the first one. There was no one more loyal to the Ultimate Warrior than Marius Gage, but even he had seen sense in the Warmaster's argument: they couldn't afford to be divided, not now. But still, he had seen the sense in his Primarch's words, and was grateful for fortune giving him the Celestial Lions, no matter how much they must be torn inside. And the sons of Fenris with their father, the mighty Wolf King himself... No, though they could have gained more to stand by them in this battle had Roboute Guilliman decided differently, it was not that which his hearts were burning at. It was the question of, if his Primarch had chosen to so alienate his allies, where -

But now was not the time.

He was about to ask Bjorn again when the Space Wolf stood straighter and a snarl emitted from his throat. Following the direction the Wolf was looking, Gage saw them. An entire Company of Night Lords. The Chapter Master and the Space Wolf exchanged glances, wondering if the Night Lords were in league with the Emperor's Children and, if so, where they had been before this moment. Whatever it was, the expression on the Chapter Master's face was thunderous. He barely had the men and women to fight the Emperor's Children; he had no wish to engage the Night Lords too.

"I knew they were bastards," Bjorn snarled, "but I didn't think they were carrion."

Gage understood the Wolf Guard's annoyance. He had not forgotten, either, the insult that Curze had dealt to his Primarch and how his words had haunted Gulliman ever since. Even so, now was, he reminded himself again, not the time. He saw some of his and Bjorn's men ready to intercept. Surprisingly, though, the Night Lords stopped and did nothing. The Astarte at the head of the company removed his helm to reveal a pale-faced Nostraman with piercing blue eyes and a shock of black hair done into a tight topknot.

 **"I am Ferok Taron, Captain of the Night Lords 23rd Company."** What he said next was not what the Chapter Master or the jarl were expecting. **"We offer our assistance in this battle, and this battle alone."  
**  
His voice, whilst deep, was not shouted. Yet it could be heard even across the distance between them. Gage could hardly believe what he had just heard.

"Let him and two others pass, I want to hear what he has to say," Gage ordered.

"This should be interesting," Bjorn muttered.

Gage nodded in agreement. This would be very interesting indeed.

* * *

Taron ignored the glares he got from the other assembled Astartes. He cared little about what they thought of him or his Legion: he was here under orders from his father and, as much as it galled him to do this, he knew there was a bigger picture at hand. The vengeance of the Night Lords and the Night Haunter was, and would forever be, paramount.

Gage stood with a cold expression across his face, Bjorn by his side, both interested in what had to be said, neither willing to take anything at face value.

"So, Captain Taron, you know Captain Bjorn?"

"I have heard of him," Taron replied, then set his helm on his belt. His two sergeants stood behind but away from him, their presence alone a warning, not that it had gone unnoticed by the Ultramarine or the Space Wolf. "I have been ordered by my Lord Curze to assist you in this battle only. After it is fought, we will go our separate ways."

That was not enough for Gage, of course. Not against the Legion always known as the cruelest among them. "What I want to know is, what are the Night Lords doing on Calth? We are nothing to do with your lord. This is a world of the Thirteenth Legion!"

"We followed the Emperor's Children here - "

"Why are the Night Lords helping us?" Bjorn interjected. "You are part of the Emperor's forces!"

Ferok met the jarl's gaze and held it. "Not anymore."

"You expect us to believe that?" Bjorn jeered. "My father would never believe that!"

"We lost our home world to the Word Bearers under the order of the Emperor," Taron snapped, his voice quivering the tiniest fraction before he brought it under control, even Bjorn unsure if he had imagined the moment of weakness.

"Nostramo is gone?" Gage asked in disbelief. Yet another world of the Imperium, destroyed... this was madness. "Why?"

"That is none of your concern, Chapter Master." Taron closed his eyes for a moment. "Know this: we do not fight for the Emperor, but neither do we fight for the Warmaster. Our path is ordained differently. The Night Lords are here to aid you. You may accept it or deny it, but judging by the losses the Ultramarines have sustained so far, I would have thought you would be glad of all the help you can get."

As much as Gage disliked the idea, the Night Lord was correct; and, which made it more irritating, he knew that Gage knew so. That still didn't answer the question he had originally asked. "But what makes the Night Lords think you can just come to a world of Ultramar like it's your own hunting ground?"

Taron turned his back and put his helm on. "We shall remain separate from your forces, Chapter Master; we shall respect your battle doctrine as long as you respect our privacy. The moment any of your forces fires on us, the truce is off. Be thankful that the Night Lords have no quarrel with either of you today."

"Is that supposed to scare me?" Bjorn stepped forward.

"I don't care if it does or doesn't. We have not come for you, so you are of no concern." With that, he walked away, back towards his company.

"Nostraman wanker," Bjorn growled incredulously. "How dare they..."

"We will need them. Anything else, well, that can wait. Sometimes, Bjorn, you have to dance with nightmares to stay awake."

"Interesting analogy."

"But true."

"I will be watching them."

"As will I," Gage assured, and went outside to join his men.


	11. Chapter Nine

Squad Trueze watched the Emperor's Children as they roamed the wreckage of Numerion City, taking prisoners to work on their vessels, or whatever else they might use them for. Along the city walls, the dead Ultramarines were splayed for the carrion to take, their gene-seed taken by the sons of Fulgrim for reasons the silent Sergeant didn't really understand, but Resik did. He joined his sergeant's side and watched the grisly work before them.

"They want the Ultramarine gene-seed for themselves, Mikhail."

"I can see that, Tor, but for what end?"

"How better to demoralise your enemy than to have the symbol of their honour, their pride, their _strength_ work for you and against all they are? The Phoenician wants to rebuild his Legion, but will use whatever means are easiest to do it."

"But won't they be bastards? Ostracised?" Neros Larion joined them both. "Despised by their brothers?"

"Maybe. Or maybe they will have the tactical acumen of Guilliman imbued with their drive for perfection of Fulgrim. A pretty good mix, if it works," Mikhail muttered.

"And he has Bile. If any tosser can make something like this work, it's him." Resik shook his head a little.

"This disturbs you, Tor?" Larion asked.

"Only to the point that such fates should be for foes, not allies. Though, as they say, you can't read by should-light. The Emperor has lost control of Fulgrim. He thought he could control us, and that backfired on him when he betrayed us and thought we would be cowed. Fulgrim? I'd bet the Vanta Hoard that he didn't see that coming."

Trueze cocked his head a little, listening to what only he could hear. He acknowledged the call and continued observing the fires and the scene below.

"Captain Ferok has joined the rebels at Guilliman. They were not welcomed with open arms."

"Did he expect them to be?" Larion arched an eyebrow. "If he did, then he is a fool."

"He held his own. He always does."

"How much longer are we to sit here and do nothing, Mikhail?"

"We wait for First Company; such are our orders. In the meantime we observe, and plan. Indra, Palaras, I want you both to scout around the north side. Out of sight, and send me detailed reports of what is going on in there."

"Ave Dominus Nox." They saluted and moved off.

"You think our new brothers will measure up?" Brother Osten joined his sergeant and his other squadmates, returning from a ranging of his own.

"If not, then they will die. Let's just make sure the Children don't get any Night Lord gene-seed"

"Fulgrim will think we have come to aid him." Larion sounded certain.

"I am not so sure," Trueze remarked. "He does not forget how he treated our father when our father confided in him. Fulgrim was Curze's mentor, and their sundering was no small matter for either."

"What did Fulgrim do?" Larion asked, a little puzzled.

"He betrayed our father when our father had entrusted him with his own secrets." Trueze narrowed his eyes, the making abundantly clear with expression alone that further questioning would be punished. "As to the rest, dive later, fight now. On this battlefield alone, we aid the forces of the Warmaster, but they may not be aware of that." The sergeant's enhanced vision focused on the wall ramparts and saw the head of the dead Ultramarine captain. "So let them all make war, and we will step in when we must."

The Night Lord squad melded back into the shortening shadows of their cover and waited. When the Night Lords had finished their business in the heavens, they would bring the night here. He hoped it would not be too long, because the real enemy was a priest that thought he was the true right hand of a traitor Emperor, and there were over a billion reasons for him to be proven wrong. He hadn't expected the Ultramarines and Rout to be happy about the Night Lords being on Calth, but with the losses they had taken, the old Terran adage, that beggars couldn't be choosers, seemed to fit perfectly. Had their pride been that much greater than their practicality, they would have been extinct already. He supposed that, by now, the Wolf King would know of their presence; but they would cross that span when they came to it.

He had seen the changes that had overcome some of the Word Bearers. The Gal Vorbak were Lorgar's favoured as he and his brothers were the Night Haunter's favoured, close but not as high-ranking as some. Their transformation had disgusted him, but at the same time fascinated him. So much power in one body! Thankfully, his love for his father outweighed any bargain a daemon might have swayed him with, and seeing what had become of the once-proud Emperor's Children had made him see he had made the right choice. The Night Haunter did not want any of his sons to make deals with daemons; if they did then – well, they knew the consequences, and now they saw the evidence before them. Daemons were not to be trusted, no matter what they promised. Some Legions knew this better than others. Lorgar, curse that monk's name, believed he could control them, but even he, who had had sent his sons into the Warp, had not fully won that first bargain. The Gal Vorbak had lost their essence. They had died, and though they had come back as something more, they had simultaneously lost the spark that had made him more than those creatures. He had shared a theoretical conversation with Argel Tal once or twice; the Word Bearer was intelligent and charismatic, but behind his eyes there was an emptiness worse than any of the Eighth's torturers.

With the Emperor's Children, the logical conclusion was reached. Bile's experimentations, or whatever their patron was supposed to be, or Fulgrim's own madness, or some combination - one way or another, the Third Legion, which had once been so haughty in their perfection, had been reduced to scum, playthings of demons. They no longer were led by any sort of ideal; except for the 'Celestial Lions' who had turned against their Primarch, they had no more light to steer by.

And in the darkness, it was the sons of the Night Haunter who ruled.

Trueze allowed a rare smile to cross his face, which prompted Resik to ask him what was humorous.

"Whether or not a god or goddess of karma exists, brother," Trueze turned to look at his Apothecary, "Fulgrim will soon be convinced they do."

* * *

The _Pride of the Emperor_ was holding her own to start with; despite several damaging hits from the Night Lord fleet, she still managed to leave three of their cruisers crippled. But the _Nightfall_ had then not yet made its move, and when she did, it was one that no one would ever forget. As the _Nightfall_ began to act, she abruptly targeted the engines of the _Pride of the Emperor_ into the gap the distracted flagship was forced to leave by the lesser ships' annoyance. A hit to the main batteries came next, the _Pride of the Emperor_ simply unable to react in time to the shift in the behavior of the Night Haunter's flagship.

Sevatarion watched as the shipmistress of the _Nightfall_ , Derian Neso, a woman newly promoted from the ranks, expertly targeted the firing solutions to go off at certain intervals. At long last, there was someone in the command throne who understood how this mighty vessel worked - Curze couldn't always stay shipside, after all. Neso was an attractive woman, pale skinned like all native Nostramans with hair of a dark red. Her eyes a piercing green, and looked more feline than human in the way they seemed to light up in the limited lighting of the _Nightfall._

The _Nightfall_ let off another salvo, missing a return from the _Pride of The Emperor_. However, a second return hit against the void shields. She cursed and shook her head. Sevatar stood beside her and rested a hand on the back of the throne.

"Don't worry, Mistress, they had to get one in sooner or later."

He liked this woman; she was not afraid of any Astarte, though of course the Primarch terrified her, and it had turned out that her great-great-great Uncle was one of the Night Lords' Dreadnoughts, Ancient Heronados. She was even willing to tell the Primarch if he was wrong, although she did it in an artificially respectful manner, and she brokered no dissension on the bridge. When the Primarch or First Captain were not in attendance, her word was law, and more often than not even Sevatar deferred to her. The previous master had died after the affair with the Ravens; apparently he had attacked the Fourth Captain in a fit of madness, although what had brought that on was anyone's guess. The Dark King had chosen this lady himself.

He had wanted someone who would not let fear restrain them from telling him he was wrong. To do that require immense guts, even if in Neso's case they were bionic. Perhaps, too, it was because she had a family ancestor in the Legion. Sevatar had offered to take her to see her vaunted ancestor, but as of yet she had refused. He respected that decision. After Nostramo, family had taken on different connotations to them all, and combat fitness took priority.

"The Primarch wishes you to meet him when you are ready, Lord. First Company are already groundside waiting."

"I do not think the sons of Russ or Guilliman are going to be happy to see us, Mistress."

"They should be grateful for the help."

"Are our squads aboard?"

"All squads minus one. Squad Gasterious have not made it, likely shot down in the initial salvo."

"Okay. We've trapped them enough. Cease fire for the moment, let the boarders do their job. Our father may yet take the ship for one of his own, after a... makeover."

"That would incense Fulgrim," she replied, with a smile creasing the corner of her mouth.

"Exactly. Sometimes demoralisation can be best achieved without destruction. If we take the vessel as a prize of war... well, to put it mildly, it'll piss them off."

"And Konrad does like to piss people off," she quietly said.

Sevatar smirked a little. She was the only human, aside from the Remembrancer Justin, who could refer to the Primarch by his first name. Not that they spoke it in public - that would just be disrespectful. But she had earnt the Night Haunter's respect, and unless she did something silly that would irk the Primarch, she would retain it.

* * *

The crew on the _Pride of the Emperor_ were the strangest configuration of people that the invading Night Lords had ever seen. They were used to people running from them or pleading for mercy; those who shot at them were further between, but also far from unheard-of. But these humans were standing waiting to be killed, a look of pure ecstasy written across their faces. Half the time, even when limbs were cut from their bodies, they didn't cry in pain but instead begged for more, not wanting the sensations to end. Full of revulsion, the Night Lords made their way towards the bridge, cutting down anything in their path, midnight-clad to avoid ambushes, blood-drenched to teach their cousins the meaning of loyalty.

Every area they passed had strange symbolic arrangements daubed on the walls. They hurt the Night Lords' eyes to look at, but the attackers just concentrated on killing human and Astartes alike. Every squad sergeant ordered that they not look at the designs. The few that could not restrain their gaze, and started exhibiting strange behaviour, had their eyes ripped out but told to fight on at the speartip. The Night Lords were not ones to kill their own in the midst of battle - they were more pragmatic than that.

A number of the Night Lords fell victim to the Emperor's Children, but they died as warriors. The flagship's defenders, meanwhile, seemed to be distracted both individually and strategically. Eventually, inevitably, the Night Lords came to the bridge. They were met with a barrage of bolter fire, but still they came, partly to secure the bridge and partly to allow their dead to be transported back to the _Nightfall_. They were not about to leave them on this corrupted vessel.

And corrupted she was.

As Sergeant Harwell cut his enemies down, he could taste the foul tang of the Warp. It was not the Emperor's power, but something altogether more sinister and alien. It was something that opened up even an Astarte's basest desires, including those long since expunged with the need for battle. It was a distraction, and one that might have availed the defenders, had they faced a lesser foe. But against the Night Lords, the defenders were more distracted still, by their own taint and by the Eighth's terror tactics. They were Astartes, and they knew no fear, but they did know despair.

Some fought through it. The Lord Commander - Desenius, judging by his rune - had already killed two squads by the time Harwell arrived on the bridge. But even those like him got tired.

Harwell ducked under a clumsy swing and brought his elbow up under the Lord Commander's jaw, then threw him over his shoulders and onto the navigation console. Desenius got to his feet and wiped his mouth, his helm long since gone.

"Nostraman thug, we are supposed to be on the same side! Fulgrim will have your father's hide for this and take it to the Emperor himself!" Desenius spat a broken tooth out as he snarled the words.

Harwell ducked again and, rising up, headbutted the Lord Commander. "We do not care, Chemos dandy. We are no longer your allies, nor are we the Emperor's lackeys, We have come for you!" He enunciated every word as he pummelled the Lord Commander's perfect face, and prepared to give the Chemosian the ignominious death he so clearly found beneath him. "We have come for you all, and your brothers, and your father too!"

 **++Harwell++  
**  
He heard the voice in his earpiece, the voice of death itself, one that made his twin hearts beat faster.

 **++Father?++**

 **++How corrupted is this vessel?++**

 **++Beyond redemption, Liege.++**

 **++Return to the _Nightfall_** **with our honoured dead. The _Nightfall_ will take care of this.++**

Harwell relayed his father's direct order and stepped back from the incapacitated Desenius, understanding that his father's plan for humiliation was superior to his own. "The last thing you will see, cousin, is the death of your Legion's pride."

Within ten minutes, the Night Lords had left the _Pride of the Emperor_. They watched in the stolen Stormbirds as the _Nightfall_ made a majestic sweep around. Desenius roared his anger as she bore down on his father's drifting ship and, with a single massive volley against the stationary target, blew her into oblivion.

* * *

The explosion in the heavens lit up the evening sky. Every Emperor's Child across the planet suffered a loss of connection to the flagship instantaneously, even those of them who were not consciously aware of that soul-pain. Demeter, watching the fires burn around him, found his gaze drawn to the bright glow in the sky and heaved a sigh. She was gone now, yet somehow, he didn't feel anything about it. If the Primarch had intended it - which he had not known before, but which was the only explanation for the flagship's loss on the brink of orbital victory - then it had been the right decision. His men were scouring the now-ruined city; already they had brought out numerous civilians, wealthy and otherwise. Their defiance soon broke down when the saw how the Emperor's Children had destroyed their defenders. Some were set aside for slave labour; others were not so lucky - or maybe they were the lucky ones, depending on the peculiarities of their perspective.

It was enough for them to see the purple and gold Astartes in their midst, but to see the towering figure of a Primarch standing in judgement over them, to say nothing of the Primarch being the Pheonician... Those that were too old to be of any use keeled over, their hearts giving out. They had died in the sight of perfection, which was as great an honour as they had ever known. Others were taken away into the only building standing, that of the district government, to be taken to the Primarch's new vessel when he deemed it necessary. Those that stood defiant - well, he had to admire their funny human eccentricities. Most were killed quickly and tossed onto the pyres, because the war was not over. The stench of burnt flesh, human and Astarte, mingled to hang heavily in the air. Buildings cascaded in on themselves as their foundations eventually gave up the battle. It was an admirably tragic scene, but as the new First Captain watched the city die, his thoughts were elsewhere.

Julius was here,. They hadn't had a chance to finish their battle, before. But Demeter had not been what he was now. The screams of the dying and the terrified had become sweeter musics to his raging heart, and he would add Kaesoron to that choir. He could picture every moment of their previous fight. Now he would complete what had been started, and then, and only then, his soul would mayhaps rest.

Fulgrim stood guardian over the dying city, but he was no longer watching the prisoners' fates; he was looking to the horizon, his fists clenching and unclenching. The last time Demeter had seen him act like that had been when he had heard of Vairosean's and Kaesoron's betrayal of him. A scan of the system before arrival had shown no sign of the _Eidolon_ : Vairosean was long gone, but to where was anyone's guess. Even so, he wanted to draw his closest brother in, to show him that there was a way back to the Primarch. All he had to do was to acknowledge the Primarch before any other, and that included the Emperor, for they were in truth sons of Fulgrim, not of the Emperor. He was their grandfather, but a distant one, one that no longer strode the stars and preferred to stay on Terra. Fulgrim, their father, strode amongst them and fought with them, and those companies that did not have the fortune to fight alongside the Primarch physically fought with his name in their hearts.

They were perfection perfected, and if he could have made Marius see that maybe he would not have betrayed the Primarch. Demeter continued watching the horizon, waiting for his father's orders. That annoying voice was gone now, and had been for several hours; he didn't miss it and could barely remember what it was.

The sound of the mewling humans was drowned out suddenly by another sound, distant but getting closer with every heartbeat. Every Astarte knew that sound, and Fulgrim's eyes remained fixed on the north. A sardonic smile creased his lips as it steadily grew louder. The wolves were coming, and the biggest howl told him what he had been hoping to hear.

The Wolf King was here.

* * *

Russ entered the town of Nicodem to see Emperor's Children bodies scattered around, some dead, some still living. He saw maybe a dozen dead Wolves, but he also saw someone else waiting for him. A growl emitted from deep in his throat and he gripped mighty Mjalnar, a blade forged from the teeth of the great Kraken Gormenjarl, a mighty frost blade that only the Wolf King could wield.

He moved towards his brother with death intent in his steps. Curze merely folded his arms across his chest. Though not as powerfully built as the Wolf King, the Dark King was still intimidating. He stepped to one side to allow Russ to see that the Night Lord Apothecaries were tending to the wounded Space Wolves; those that were dead had their gene seed collected and given to Curze, who in turn demonstratively returned them to the lord of all Fenris.

Sevatar moved to one knee as Russ's presence encompassed all. The Wolf King gave a barely perceptible nod of acknowledgement and they rose. The First Captain walked to the back and returned, a steadying arm around the one-armed Sergeant Olaf.

"Olaf." Russ moved to his son and sheathed Mjalnar as he crouched down. Seeing the look in the sergeant's eyes, he saw what had befallen the company. "Did they die well?"

"They died with honour and as sons of Fenris." Olaf pointed to the banner that now sat with the remaining warriors of the group. Russ listened as his sergeant recounted the tale of Juffar's last battle. A Space Wolf from the Thunderfist clan, one of the first inducted into the star warriors after Russ had returned to them when his time with his true father had finished. He had been a ferocious son of a bitch then, as all peoples of Fenris were, for Fenris was a harsh mistress and a distant mother. The strong survived, and the weak did not, though both strength and weakness had many colors. Such were the rules of the world which they called home, which they would look to for guidance on planets where stars shone brilliantly in the night sky.

The Primarch rested a giant hand on his son's shoulder. "I will leave you in the care of the Wolf Priests, they will tend to you and your brothers so that you will fight again. I will also name you Juffar's replacement."

Olaf cocked his head a little. "The gods saw fit to give me two arm,s my liege, I can still fight."

Russ laughed, a great booming laugh. "That you can, Olaf of the Beras, but not this time. There _will_ come other battles."

"Then listen, my lord: the Night Lords saved us." The last words stuck in the sergeant's throat. "They took the slack when my brothers fell. The foul sons of Chemos are more powerful than we gave them credit for now; even together, we could not stop some of them from retreating."

Russ nodded and motioned for Wolf Priest Surgiarl to come forward and aid Olaf. Then, and only then, he stood to his full height and faced his brother. The mistrust between them was brewing like a Fenrisian storm. Still, Curze had stopped his sons from being slaughtered, and he had lost enough already.

"What are you doing on Gulliman's lands?" Russ demanded.

"I have not come for you, Leman," Curze quietly spoke. "I have come for Fulgrim."

Russ arched an eyebrow. "You expect me to believe that? You are the Emperor's chosen; why would you come for Fulgrim?"

"How safe is Fenris, Russ?" Curze hissed.

It was then that Leman noticed the Night Haunter's arm was silver from the elbow down. He met his brother's dark eyes and curled his top lip. "Are you really threatening me, Curze?"

"How safe is Fenris?" Curze asked again and began to pace. "If a fleet of the Emperor's appeared in orbit around her, would she survive?" He didn't give his brother a chance to answer. "I thought Nostramo was safe, her defences enough to keep her from harm's way. I was wrong. I failed our ascendant father. When Angron broke the back of the one-eyed king instead of killing him, father punished him with pain, as I would have. When the Lion failed him by alerting Perturabo too soon to the Emperor's wishes, he punished him by sending him away to seek atonement, as the Lion himself would have. I failed him by leaving the dead to stay dead, and so he ordered what Angron would have done."

"What are you rambling about?" Russ snarled. His two wolves, sensing their brother's mood, began to growl. He shushed them. This was a delicate situation, and his own frustrations were enough.

"He sent Lorgar to destroy my world. The Word Bearers destroyed Nostramo, and there was nothing I could do, for I was in a deep sleep." Curze looked at his silver arm for a moment.

"Nostramo is gone?" Russ could not believe it, he was not sure he wanted to believe it. He had no love for the Night Lords and even less for his brother, but every Primarch's homeworld had meaning to them. He could not quite help himself from empathizing, from thinking on what it would mean if Fenris were lost. With the Night Lords it was a touch less dramatic, for where the Sixth recruited only from Terra and Fenris, the Eighth sometimes recruited on their campaigns. Still, if what Curze had told him was true, then unless the Night Lords found another world suited to their physiology, they were at risk of dying out once the newest aspirants were trained. The loss of population was ruinous to the Legion's present, but the infrastructure and gene-seed stores on Nostramo had been the Night Lords' future.

All things considered, perhaps the Eighth's extinction might not have been a bad thing, but Russ felt well his brother's anger.

"He meantx it as a warning to all of us, those that are in his inner circle and those that defy him. Look at what I can do! Do as I say, for fear of losing your worlds! Our little empires forged in days before he came to reunite with us..." Curze spat the last words out in disgust. "I come for Fulgrim, for he betrayed my trust."

Lemans brow creased a little, making him appear more wolfish then human, wondering what his mad brother was ranting about, before he slowly remembered. When Curze had struck Dorn, before all this madness began, Fulgrim had gone to offer counsel, to understand why Curze would break one of Father's laws. Curze had told him about his waking nightmares, his visions of what was to come and what might come to pass. Crippling visions that left him weakened for hours, sometimes days. Fulgrim had then revealed that their pale-skinned brother was a psyker, a witch. Many of them no longer saw Curze the same way after that.

Russ had not been among them. Whilst Russ distrusted and hated Curze, he understood that, like Angron, his brother's psyche had been fractured beyond repair. Angron was just a monstrous berserker, but Curze was a sociopath, one who had never felt any affection from or for his father until his father seemingly recognised the Night Lords talents. Doubly so, when the war had begun. Now, though, it seemed that the Emperor had turned his back on his order-obsessed son and destroyed his home world, much as he turned his back on Charion and - and he pushed the names from his mind, but Curze had read his brothers expression perfectly.

"He sent you and Angron to rein them in, but even you felt uneasy at such an act. I saw what happened with Adonnas as Corax saw that happened with Charion." Curze stopped pacing and stood before his brother, the lunatic's posture suddenly becoming a king's, though its cruelty had not changed. "I am not one of the Emperor's slaves any longer. I am a Primarch without a home, but the mistake he made was leaving me alive. I will not fight Horus's battles, but I will fight my own. My path is paved with vengeance and blood. I will not fight for the Warmaster and his allies, for that is not what I am wrought to be. No, Leman, today I will fight alongside you because vengeance demands it. You answered the call for aid as honour dictates that you rally to your brother Roboute, I do it because I have the anger of all my planet gaping within me with a black hole's maw. I will put aside my animosity towards you and Guilliman for this battle; will you do the same?"

Russ walked away and stood at the entrance to the ruined township, knowing everything that had needed to be said had been. He surveyed the plateau before him and rubbed his jaw. "What do you have in mind?"

Curze nodded to himself. It was the closest he was going to get to a truce from the Wolf King. It would do.


	12. Chapter Ten

Julius made his way to the side of the great Wolf King and cleared his throat a little. The Primarch glanced down and arched an eyebrow, the only sign that he wanted to know what the former First Captain of the Emperor's Children wanted with him.

"My lord, I ask one boon from you."

"Oh?" Russ was intrigued, and expressed it by looming.

Julius was glad at the moment that he was not as tall as a Primarch, else he might have lost the will to ask what he had wanted to ask since they started out on this walk. "I would ask that we, the Celestial Lions, have responsibility for dealing with the new First Company."

Russ stopped walking, his attention fully gripped now.

Julius had arrived as Russ and Curze had finished speaking. Haffrenger, one of the Rout's Veteran Sergeants, had told the new Chapter Master that the Night Lords were for the moment their allies. It would appear that Nostramo was gone at the orders of the Emperor, and the Night Haunter had responded as any Primarch would. Kaesoron had been intrigued for another reason: the Wolf King was not known for his ability to play well with others, indeed he was the walking embodiment of the lone wolf. Something must have allowed him to agree to this. Hopefully, it had been nothing more sinister than a persuasive argument. The same sort of persuasiveness that he hoped would work now. He had worked with the Rout before, he had gotten to know their mindsets, and he knew that though they were not always cooperative, they appreciated when a wrong needed to be righted.

"Well?" Russ asked, his voice a deep well of rage and violence, kept in check by a tightly forged chain of discipline.

"Fulgrim's new First Captain, Solomon Demeter. I owe him for the lives he has taken, and if my lord uncle wills it, I want to send him to hell, lord."

"So, a personal vendetta?" Russ chuckled and clapped his huge paw against the Chapter Master's pauldron, almost knocking him off his feet. "I think some of our ways are rubbing off on you, Julius Kaesoron."

"I have always admired the sons of Fenris, my lord," Kaesoron admitted, "and yet I have been wrong about them. What I saw, as did many of my brothers in my former legion, was a legion of barbaric bastards who would eat and drink themselves into a stupor and only ever did the work of the Emperor when he needed attack dogs. Even then, though, none could doubt your efficiency, nor match it." Julius raised his gaze a little. "But I was wrong, my lord, and for that I apologise. I now see that whilst the Rout is not civilised in the way of the sons of Chemos or Inwit, they have a skill that few of us have, and perhaps that is why you have retained yourselves while my Legion did not. Except in the Luna Wolves, I have not seen such a pack mentality; and that, lord, is what binds you. That's more than most Legions can say. Especially now."

"You are aware of a Fenrisian wolf pack's hierarchy?" Russ asked.

"Yes, lord. A female wolf is the leader, the alpha. The society is run by an alpha female and one alpha male, both of whom have exclusive mating rights - "

Russ waved him to silence. "As there are no women in the Legions, that goes to the wayside, but I assure you, Julius, in the tribes of Fenris, amongst the humans, it is the women that rule the roost. I have seen many a man rather face the wrath of the krakens than go home and tell his wife there is no food for the table. A Fenrisian woman's wrath is enough to stoke the fires of vengeance in the mate who disappointed her, sometimes more than Hel itself... But that is another world, whether wolf or human. On this battlefield, I am the alpha, and I respect your need for vengeance. So be it. Fulgrim is mine, but you will lead the fight against his first company."

"My thanks, my lord."

"I will send Garvok and his men with you, to help make the numbers up, but he will follow your orders... You call yourselves Lions now, Kaesoron. Lions did not give up their pride easily, nor their territory. You will have to adapt and forget some of the things you knew as a son of Fulgrim. Your former friend is gone: whatever he is now, he is not the man you remember, not the man you called brother and stood side by side with. He must be stopped and culled, as any lion would an interloper or challenger. He is going to want your head to present to his bastard father. You are going to have to want the same. Take heed from my sons. There can be no pity, no remorse."

Julius nodded and stood a little taller. "There will be none, my lord, you have my word on that."

"It is not me you have to impress, Chapter Master. It is the men that still follow you and the man who looks back at you in the mirror every morning. I will have no command over the Celestial Lions after this battle... But, for now, there are other matters. As Chapter Master, you are also privy to other plans. By now you are aware that the Night Lords are amongst us?"

Kaesoron nodded once. He had seen the Night Lords' first company as he had rejoined the Rout and their King. He had also seen the Night Haunter in hush-toned conversations with the lord of Fenris. As soon as the father of the Nostraman Sons caught the former Emperors Children's first captain's gaze, a slight sneer crossed his face. Julius had no idea what it was all about, or what it was for; all he did know was that in recent decades the Night Lords' relationship with the Emperor's Children, that had been as close as any they could cultivate, had soured. Julius did not know why, and had not asked, though the rumor had been of an altercation between the Legions' Primarchs.

"We are to attack as the sun sets. I will be sending in some skirmishers, gives Curze a chance to position his men. The Night Lords fight better in the low light of night anyway, and we wolves can see as well in any light, day or night."

"That will not please Fulgrim. He likes to show off to his enemy, belittle them with his splendour and his glory..." Julius mused.

"So why would I give him the chance? Besides, his Legion has become a gaggle of deranged killers and hedonists. Their depravities rank amongst things that I, and my brothers, thought long gone from the sons we changed. The only thing they're showing off is terror tactics, though unlike the Eighth it's probably not even on purpose. I'll leave them under cover of night." Russ shook his head in disgust. He had heard about the more extreme elements of the Legion and what they had become now, all to feed their habits. "Whilst Curze and I take the fight to Fulgrim, what do you suppose he will be doing to make sure we are kept occupied?"

Julius Kaesoron scowled for a moment, pondering, then he realised: his father's words had been to take the young of his conquered enemies, and it had been Demeter that had proposed it. He glanced up at the Wolf King, whose stone-wolfen features broke into a sly smile as he nodded, realising that Julius had come to the same conclusion.

"The children..."

"One report Curze received from his most trusted sergeant was that the new First Company were heading towards the caverns of Calth. That is where you will be going. I want you to leave now, and make sure those mangy mutts do not get one child of Ultramar. Not one, even if it brings destruction to this new chapter. Understand? This is your own personal battle, Lion of Chemos. End this and the future will be clear for you, no more ghosts to sit on your shoulders."

Julius nodded and, with his Chapter, veered off from their previous course and double-timed it towards the caverns. Demeter had a head start, but Julius had a trick or two in his own sleeves.

It was only as he left the two Primarchs and their own impending battle behind that Julius realised he had not called Fulgrim father.

* * *

Gage watched the Night Lords. They kept their distance, only joining their cousins whenever meetings of import were called; the rest of the time, they kept to the shadows, uncomfortable in the harsh sunlight of Calth. He had often wondered how they dealt with the worlds they had conquered in broad daylight, but thinking back, he had only ever seen the Astartes of Nostramo take a world in darkness.

He hated to admit it, but even now, when the last meeting between his father and the Dark King had left that taste of foulness in the heart of ever Ultramarine, had quite possibly tipped the Thirteenth over that fated edge at Istvaan, when tensions between the two Legions were taut as a loab-harpoon's mooring - even now, the Night Lords offered skills that no other Legion had.

He almost gave into the curiosity about why they were here to aid them, but stopped himself. He did not know, and perhaps it was better he did not. Bjorn had left a few hours ago, his company heading towards the eastern caverns and the surrounding farmlands; although it had vexed the Space Wolf to have been left from his father's side, he did as he was asked.

Marius Gage thought of his own Primarch. Not for the first time since this madness started, the Ultramarines' First Chapter Master wondered if they should have hewn closer to what the Warmaster asked of them. Gage was not in the habit of questioning his father's actions, but he was also very keenly aware that Guilliman's approach had put Five Hundred Worlds at added risk, as well as thousands of other worlds within the Imperium. The battle lines had been drawn, and any complications were a threat. Fortunately, his relationship with the true master of Ultramar was such that he could voice these fears and not be reprimanded for what some other Primarch would see as dissent. Unfortunately, Guilliman was not here to voice such things to.

Another Primarch like Fulgrim - Fulgrim the mad, Fulgrim the vainglorious, Fulgrim who now held his blade too close to Ultramar's throat. It had been a harsh awakening: their empire was not as untouchable as they had believed. It was not pleasant to contemplate, nor easy to admit to the Legion that was by far the biggest and one of the proudest.

The other foes that concerned Gage were the Dark Angels. Despite the Warp turmoil, they knew something of the motion of most Imperial Primarchs, outdated as that intelligence was; but about the Lion there were only rumours. Tales spoke of the Master of the First splitting his Legion, perhaps to ensure their future, perhaps as punishment detail, perhaps as purge. The Lion's words were followed to the letter, but secrecy shrouded the First Legion more than ever. Was it merely paranoia, or something more? Was he expanding the Dark Angels' own holdings? Were other Imperial Legions quietly doing the same? And if not, what _were_ they plotting?

He shook his head, trying to free himself of the questions worming their way into his mind like some parasite. They were for another time. He had to concentrate on the here and now, and the now was defending Guilliman City from the approaching Emperor's Children.

His scouts had sighted a large force heading towards them, led by Lord Commander Vespasian. It was obvious that they wanted to take the city, but he suspected that they also wanted to take his head. He could understand that. If they managed to take his head, it could mean the end of this war. For the foreseeable future, no matter that he now wished otherwise, Marius Gage was the Primarch in all but body (albeit that was a but of titanic scale). He was Guilliman's word and law, and what he said was acted upon as if the Primarch himself had spoken.

It was humbling to have been chosen to be such a representative, though in this battle it made little difference. Most Ultramarines loved and respected the Chapter Master in equal measure, and those that did not still understood his rank. Even if he had not been designated the Regent of Ultramar, they would have followed him anyway.

He turned as he heard the power armour behind him to see the helmeted form of Captain Ferok of the Night Lords. The Night Lord inclined his head, although Gage was not sure if it was out of genuine respect for his position or habit.

"What can I do for you, cousin?" he asked, curiosity becoming a strong urge.

Ferok looked around himself for a moment. "You will forgive me if I keep my helm on," he began, "as the light is a little too bright for me." Gage nodded. "I came to inform you that my Lord Curze had joined forces with Lord Russ and his Rout."

"If it were not for the bastards that are coming here, I would have liked to have joined them." There was a slight restlessness in the Chapter Master's voice that Ferok did not miss.

"You do not want to be here, but as Guilliman's appointed successor you are to be protected by those around you. The Wolf King knows that too."

Gage was stunned by the Nostraman's insight. He had kept those thoughts to himself lest they cause unrest amongst his brothers. Ferok waved his hand a little, almost as if he had read the Chapter Master's mind. "I am good at reading emotions, human and Astarte. And, in truth, you remind me of the sergeant we call Justicar."

"Oh?"

Ferok nodded, looking at the maps laid across the table and studying them, committing each area to memory. "He was almost raised by the Primarch, when he was a child. There was none closer to the Primarch on Nostramo, and save perhaps for the Prince of Crows, there is none now. Trueze is one of the few amongst us who truly understands the Primarch. He does not like being away from the battle - at present he is running scouting missions, clearing out the Emperor's Children watch guards, making sure their network is silenced. Although he could have been a Captain by now, he refused, preferring to remain as the voice between the men and the Primarch. So, yes, I have seen Trueze have similar doubts to yours now."

Gage joined his side and looked at the maps. "Suggestions on our current situation?"

Ferok nodded. "They will arrive here by twilight. The pace they are marching is strangely ordered for them, in their current state. We will take the high ground here." He motioned to Haspas Tower. "We have a good view and the darkness that is offered there will hide us, more so when we go midnight-clad. The Talons can launch harrying raids on the back elements of his company. Thin them out, before they even know what is happening."

That was no idle boast; Gage was well aware how efficient the Night Lords were when it came to night attacks, and in fact only the Raven Guard could match them in such tactics. Ferok paused for a moment, then continued when the Chapter Master nodded his assent.

In truth, the Night Lord Captain had not expected his words to be heeded; if anything, he expected them to be shot down with a sneer or condescending word or two. So when Gage motioned for him to continue, he was more then a little surprised.

"If you would allow me to take two of your assault squads, they can work in conjunction with us and thin out the side ranks. They will need to follow my orders to the letter as timing must be perfect. We will lend them some silenced packs."

Gage was impressed, and at long last pushed out of his introspection. He had underestimated the Night Lord, and such oversights could be fatal in other circumstances. Crossing to his table, Gage poured two tankards of Nostraman ale.

"I took a liking to this when Captain Antolas and I fought side by side, before the madness." He handed Ferok a tankard. "Now, cousin, tell me what else you have planned. I know how I would approach this battle, but as you and Bjorn have told me, our conventional methods were not formulated for this. We need to adapt to new strategies, and I want to hear more of yours."

* * *

He could sense it: he was able to do the one thing no other Primarch had ever even dared to try. He took a moment to savour it. He was going to destroy the Five Hundred Worlds; he was going to end the Realm of Ultramar, and begin something infinitely more interesting and to his tastes.

Oh, there was no denying that his brother did design the most beautiful worlds; and the Five Hundred were envied across the Imperium, had always been. It was the only reason he'd ever had to envy the so-called Ultimate Warrior; Chemos was glorious, but by necessity alone. And it was precisely because of Ultramar's glory that its end would be brilliantly inevitable, and thereby perfect. Such dreams, such ideas - and now, he would teach the citizens of Ultramar how little those disobediences were compared to him.

Fulgrim wrapped his arms around himself. He had sent Vespasian on to Guilliman City to do one thing: defeat Gage and bring his flayed skin to the Primarch. Once Gage and Russ had both been vanquished, Calth would be as good as theirs. He had sent Demeter to the caverns, to kill any Astartes and adults and take the children. How delicious it would be, to have former children of Ultramar fighting in his name across the stars instead of his brother. Once the three of them were finished, he would reduce Calth to a radioactive wasteland where nothing could live above the ground. It was ruined already by this war; he would be doing it a kindness, ending patchy misery.

His musings passed as he focused his attention on the town below. His sons had reined themselves in. This was good: this was how they were supposed to be, not some addled rabble. Pleasure had its place, as did pain, worship of Slaanesh had its place, as did that of the Emperor - but above all, they were sons of Fulgrim. When he presented the Five Hundred Worlds to his father, the Emperor would understand why that was not a statement of disloyalty, but of necessity.

He cocked his head a little, sensing that same feeling he had earlier. He knew Russ was here; that barbarian never could remain quiet, always having to announce himself. Fulgrim had accounted for that. But there was someone, or rather, some _thing_ else. Something that should not be here, something that should no longer exist.

 _Lorgar let him live..._

Fulgrim narrowed his eyes. Things had gotten much more complicated.


	13. Chapter Eleven

Major Tyrina Ferrena, commanding officer of the Calth Rangers Rho, rubbed her eyes and drank some more coffee. It was her fifth mug, but she needed to be awake. News had reached her that enemy Astartes had been sighted near the Caverns. A group of Astartes calling themselves the Celestial Lions had arrived to reinforce them in the message's wake. One of them, the one they called the Lion of Chemos, had looked straight at her as he inspected the defenses, and she almost shrivelled under that gaze. He had inclined his snow-topped head in her direction, but it was his eyes that were impossible to meet. They carried a haunting look, as if some great burden had been placed on his shoulders and he had been lost underneath it, holding it back before it engulfed the galaxy entire.

The day before, a contingent of Space Wolves had arrived; those even now were socialising with her Rangers. Sergeant Foran, the Ultramarine she now answered directly to, made his way across and stood beside her as she watched the entrance.

"We will be expecting visitors soon," he informed her, "and not allies."

"We will be ready, my lord," she told him. And reached for another flask.

Foran watched her for a moment; his helm's biometrics display told him that this woman needed some sleep. She was a formidable woman. Her dark brown hair was shorn close to her head, above ice-blue eyes that missed nothing. Her people adored her, for she led from the front not the back. She had not been under his command long, and for the first time, he noticed the thin tattoo that coiled along her neck. He might have seen it before, but this was the first time he had paid it any heed.

"What is that?" he enquired. "Looks like a tribal marking."

"No, my lord, or - yes, I suppose, in a way it might as well be that. My great-great-great grandmother started the Rangers, chosen by the Primarch himself to form a special forces mortal army, capable of going into any theatre and fight as well as the last." She had pride in her voice. "None of my family have inherited their position; we have all had to work for it."

"It shows in how the men and women under your command respect you." He smiled a little. "Were women able to join the Legions, your ancestor would have been a legend of the Thirteenth, if the legends of Orsiria Heranes are anything to go by."

Tyrina inclined her head, proud that the Sergeant knew of her lauded ancestor. "I think she would have made the drill sergeants at Calth Barracks take pause with her colourful metaphors."

Foran laughed a little. "I do not doubt that - no one could accuse her of being a lady. Though she'd hardly be the only foul-mouthed Initiate we get... She would be proud that you remember that, about her. Legend is one more type of forgetfulness."

Tyrina nodded, then paused and looked at him strangely. "Forgive me, my lord, did you know my grandmother?"

He looked at her for a long moment and then focused his gaze to the gateway that separated the caverns from the outside world.

"I fought alongside her once, just after I became a full Astarte; she was nearing the end of her life then," he told her. "So I have basis to say that had she been alive today, she would be proud of all you have achieved, and she would be right beside you. Maybe she is, in a sense, for the next few hours, maybe days, will be the hardest battle that even the vaunted Rangers have fought. Soon you will fight Astartes... There is a trick to remember, if I may part some advice to you?" Tyrina nodded, pride and awe in mixed quantities with a little dose of shock added in at his revelation. "The creatures we face are banking on the all-too-known human fear, and more than that, on that which fear brings; but you and your rangers were raised in Ultramar. You have fought orks, you have faced tainted humans, have beaten back xenotypes still mysterious. In the end, this will be no different to that. The Rangers were picked to fight alongside us all because you have the same courage and honour; and any fear you have felt has only been channelled into a indomitable will for victory, at any cost."

"Courage and honour, my lord."

"Courage and honour, Major. Now I am ordering you to get some rest. You will be no good to me without, and it is my turn for the watch."

"Yes, my lord." Tyrina went to head to her bunk, then stopped and said, "thank you, my lord, for your kind words. Perhaps when this is over, you will share a story with me of my ancestor that has not been shrouded by legends."

Foran nodded and watched her leave. He reached into his pouch and took a letter from within, one that he had kept since he was an Initiate. It was a simple letter, written by a proud mother. Many of his brothers had dedicated their lives to their father and their duty. Foran was no different, but he never forgot the woman who had birthed him. He had never wanted to, and despite his lessons and indoctrinations into the ways of the Ultramarines, he had never forgotten her.

He read the words: she was proud that he had been elevated into the elite warrior cadre of Ultramar and proud that he would call the King of Ultramar father, but sad that given time his memories of her and his blood-father would fade. That had in part come true, and he remembered relatively little of his father, but his mother had retained her place in his memories with a fierce intensity. He recalled with perfect clarity when he had fought alongside her at the battle of Syren XXI, now known as Ranger's Hope. She had recognised him, despite his features having become much more like that of his lord with the changes the gene-seed wrought.

 _She had rested her hand on his arm at the end, before she was carried away by her jubilant men and women. The victory had been hard-fought, costly to them, yet so well-earned that the Primarch himself had renamed the world in their honour. She had beckoned him down and whispered: "You have done me proud, of all my five sons and three daughters, Antos... "_

 _"My honour to fight alongside my most lauded mother," he had said and kissed the back of her hand._

 _When she was carried away he had been joined by the Primarch, who had observed the altercation. "Had we sisters in the Legions she would have been one of the inner circle by now, Antos. Never forget her. It is her fire that helped you pass the trials, and her strength, like so many mothers of Macragge, that enabled me to gain a fine son."_

 _"She would be honoured to hear that, lord. For I am the only one of her sons to have become an Ultramarine."_

Foran put the letter back in his pouch and turned his gaze to the retreating back of the Major. He had not lied, that she would have been proud of his niece.

But for now he closed it from his mind, soon to be joined by his brothers and assume watch duties. Reminiscence would have to wait. Soon, something dark would be here, and from what he had learnt from his captain and others over the last few months, it would be a battle that he would never have thought possible. The Emperor's Children were coming, and they were coming to kill.

* * *

Sergeants Resna and Baris of the Ultramarine Assault Squads that bore their names stood alongside Sergeants Bythe, Kanar and Osoro of the Night Lords, watching as their captain surveyed the lands around him. For the last several hours, the two Ultramarines and their squads had been schooled in the use of these silent jump packs. They were lighter then their own pack, but with no less power. Apparently, the design had been a gift from Ferrus Manus to his brother's Legion. Although Ferok could not explain how, the packs were silent, no noise coming from their flames. Unsurprisingly, that made them utterly deadly.

Now the two sons of Guilliman understood why it was that the Night Lords had become associated with the legends and myths of the silent Raptors that came from the skies and carried their prey off into the night, to feast on hearts or souls. Embellished, obviously, but there was a grain of truth to it. Certainly, the talons on the gauntlets and the ferocity of their helm's designs did nothing to allay these fears. Inspiring terror had been a passion of the Eighth's since before they had found their Primarch.

Ferok called the two Ultramarines over and pointed to a outcrop of rocks. "Where does that end?"

Resna was silent for a moment, calling up the layout from his memory. He had been born on Calth, and those rocks had been part of his training regime when he entered the barracks as an initiate, though that was a distant past now. "They rise up to meet the Hera mountains, but - " He crouched down, his brother and the Night Lords crouching with him. "This part here at the north, the Throat of Hades we call it. It's a narrow passage that acts as a phenomenal bottleneck. When we reached scout status we would run simulations through here, but always, no matter the strategies used, those that took the high ground had the victory." He drew the mountains and passage into the sand. "This is the only entrance towards the north caverns and Guilliman's Gate they could use if they want to surprise us at all."

"So they could not see us? What about the auspex?" Osoro, a brutish looking Night Lord with gang tattoos across his face, asked.

Resna glanced at his cousin to see a nose broken so many times, it was permanently flattened and twisted to one side. "There is some ore within the rocks that interferes with the auspex readings. That also works for those on top, but the view afforded ensures you can overcome that."

"I am sure Demeter would know that," Kanar rumbled. "What is that area there?" He pointed to rock that had been carved with the visage of Konor Guilliman, the Primarch's adoptive father and the famous Warrior King of Ultramar.

"The visage of Konor that guards the valley below. As sacred as any place can be on Calth," Resna quietly spoke.

"It looks across the entire bottleneck. We could launch from there and be back up before those sick fucks know what is happening."

"We won't stop them all." Ferok stood up. "I have orders from the Dark King that Demeter is for Kaesoron only." He looked back at the dirt map, then at the actual valley. "We will attack once the sun has set. Darkness is on our side, not theirs. The Emperor's Children prefer their battles to be where all can witness their... _perfection_." He spat the last words with more sarcasm then had ever been heard from him. "In the night, there is none better then us. To which..." He looked at the Ultramarines. "It will be five hours before they are here. I am afraid, cousin, you will all need to go midnight-clad." He pointed to the one crate of supplies he had brought with him. "Cover the cobalt of the sons of Macragge to make them as dark as possible. Camouflage is all well and good, but I do not want them getting even a lesser advantage from your colours."

"As you wish, cousin." Resna silenced any protests. "My lord Chapter Master told us to follow your instructions."

"Good," Ferok nodded, then went back to studying the land around him.

* * *

The silence was as deafening as a battlefield itself. Nothing moved, no birds sang, and no animals left their lair. It was as if some great god had snuffed out sound itself, which was not too far from the truth. Great plumes of smoke still rose high into the air, funeral pyres for the dead Astartes, sons of Guilliman who had given their lives in defence of Numinus. The stench of charred flesh and burning body fats carried on the Caltheen winds; every Astarte within a twelve-kilometre radius was able to smell the stench, and that distance was doubled for the Rout.

Leman Russ stood surveying the ruins alongside his brother Konrad Curze. There was silence amongst the Astartes: there were brothers of the Rout amongst the honoured dead, but the majority of the dead were Ultramarines, something that was not lost on both Primarchs. Of all the Legions, the Ultramarines were by far the biggest, but with the loss of so many across this battlefield and the last, that title was taking a beating. The Thousand Sons were nowhere near ready to take on the might of the Emperor, even though they were recovering their numbers gradually; but they had always been a small Legion. The Ultramarines, despite their infrastructure, despite the still-impressive number of their Legion who still drew breath on Calth (to say nothing of Guilliman, wherever he was), would take years to recover their number due to the sheer quantity of losses.

"Well, maybe it will bring Guilliman down to size," Curze rumbled, ignoring his brother's snarl at his dispassionate words. "For decades he has had the honour of having the biggest Legion... now, well, now he will be on a par with us all."

"I lost some good sons to this as well, Curze," Russ warned.

"Not as many as Guilliman" Curze replied and met his feral brother's gaze without flinching. "We will come in from the west." He cocked his head a moment, listening to something over his vox. "Acknowledged, Justicar." He looked at Russ. "No watch teams are left. Now, as I was saying, we will come in from the west and take their flanking positions. At night it will be easier for us to operate and - I suspect - it would aid your sons. The wind is changing direction, the scent of the dead will cover your approach."

"As long as you understand something: Fulgrim is mine," Russ reminded him.

"Depends which of us gets there first, brother," Curze responded and, without waiting for an answer, moved off with his sons towards the west side of the city.

Russ watched him go and shook his head, all manners of curses going through his mind. Leman Russ prided himself on being able to read his brothers' intentions, not just their body language but their faces too. He could read their motives and glean all he needed to from the first contact, and that had been true for Curze as well. But now, the Night Haunter was an enigma, one that Russ couldn't read.

The Wolf King had no idea why his cadaverous brother would offer his aid; there was no doubt that the more nocturnal aspects of his brother's skill set would come in use, but why would he want to aid a renegade Primarch against a loyalist one? All he knew was that Nostramo was gone. But this was more then a simple act of revenge: if that had been the case, he would have gone for Colchis. No, this was something else, personal, deeper. The Wolf King heaved a heavy sigh and, after a moment or two, rejoined his sons and waited. There was a contingent of Ultramarines coming to meet up with them; they would be here at dusk. He did not begrudge his nephews this fight, for this was after all one of their worlds, and that outstripped any argument his brother might have made.

* * *

The Night Haunter waited alone, watching the city below him. Fulgrim would know that he was going to face the Rout's barbarian father, but he wondered if his brother knew that he was coming too. As he watched, the sons of Chemos redeployed around the ruins of the city, their movements slightly more coherent then the rest of their depraved brothers.

He could see the still-crucified form of Eidolon at the walls. It had not been removed, and he had had to give his brother kudos for that, for leaving the body there as a reminder to all who was really in charge. Then it hit him. That was what Fulgrim was doing - he was having a cull, getting rid of those who were too far gone in the worship of that depraved god/goddess to acknowledge his orders anymore. The Night Haunter was quite familiar with that tactic.

He looked to the plains around the walled city. The gods of death and destruction were gathering, and they were going to have a feast. Despite what his brothers might have imagined, he had read much on ancient cultures' martial beliefs, pre-war customs and such. Those that the Rout seemed to descend from, or model themselves after, believed that warrior women stalked the battlefields during and after the battle, taking the souls of the honoured dead to their heaven, where they would wait until called again at world's ending. That one interested him the most. He could picture them, now, waiting at the edge of the battlefield; and they would not be short on recruits.

There were similar stories on Nostramo, but not quite as glorified. Before he came, the myth cycles dated back to the old gangland wars. A figure wreathed in black, taking the souls of the dead to hell itself... It was no wonder when he came to the lawless world, his work sparked fear incarnate, even before such became its chief intent. He _was_ that ancient image of death, the embodiment of fear and darkness. Fulgrim, for all his high and mighty words, would soon learn that. He would learn that all the tales of the battlefield were nothing compared to the lord of fear and master of the darkness. He remembered Fulgrim's overtures of friendship, he remembered thinking that his mentor was a brother he could trust... now that memory had come to betrayal, and vengeance was inevitable.

His serpentine ways had had the desired effect: ostracised more from his siblings after their learning of his inner madness, Curze fell more into the role that had been designed for him. But even after such a betrayal, nothing compared to his father's orders, his father's condemnation of his world and his father's will enacted with the mad prophets destroying his home. His masterpiece, a shining example of justice and order.

He didn't really care if the Ultramarines went extinct or existed on the verge of extinction; as he had said to Russ, it would bring his empire building brother down a peg or too. To know that the perfect harmony of the Ultramarines was going to diminish, that, like their cousins, they would be constrained within numbers more aligned to the other Legions... Frankly, that would please him no end. There was no love lost between Curze and Gulliman, and had Lorgar not destroyed his world, he would have been happy to fight alongside Fulgrim now. This was not the Night Lords coming to the aid of a beleaguered brother Legion, as the Space Wolves had; this was the Night Lords doing what they were wrought to do. There was no such thing as honour, and never had been; if his brothers thought that they could work their way through the eternal darkness that had now descended upon the Imperium, they were wrong. He knew that: he had stood amongst the ashes of tens of billions of lives and asked them if honour mattered.

No. All that mattered was revenge, justice, and order; and now, as the eternal spiral descended towards his and the galaxy's finale, they came in that order only. His sons had a new path, a new crusade, that of vengeance. The voices of Nostramo cried at them all, his waking moments consumed by the death of his world, his sleeping moments by the death of its people. If Calth and its people joined them, it could neither deepen nor soothe that pain. This - all of this - was for his people, and his people alone.

Finally, the Night Haunter was pulled back nearer reality by the arrival of his two most favoured sons, Sevatarion on one side, Trueze on the other.

"Your orders, lord?" the Prince of Crows asked.

"I want Fulgrim for myself. We are to aid the Rout, but only if it gets me to my goal."

"Are we to ensure he dies?"

"Dies? No, Mikhail, I am going to let him live, but he will live with the marks I give him, one that even his gene-coded healing won't fix." The Night Haunter raised his lightning claws; he had received them from Ferrus, the day after he was named the supreme officer of justice by his father, and the fact that they were the Gorgon's work was an intrinsic part of his revenge. Infused with dark energies, whatever mark they left stayed. "One that will forever remind him of his betrayal of one that had trusted him."

* * *

Horus watched as the _Iron Blood_ and _Beta_ came into view. Beside him Sanguinius stood, having arrived a few hours ago for one of his all-too-frequent meetings with the Warmaster. Not that Sanguinius minded - he was all too happy to see his brother, especially when compared to many of the ambitious luminaries at the Council of Catachan. It was just - gone were the days of playful banter between them, now it was dealing with the never-ending list of their insane father's actions.

Sanguinius had broached with Horus the subject of his, for want of a better word, debate with Roboute. Horus had been silent for some time; then, with a heavy heart he told his most trusted brother, the one he adored above all others, what exactly had come to pass between the Warmaster and the Empire Builder. Sanguinius listened, as he always did. While he counseled peace, as always, he was not surprised at the course Horus had taken. And while he could imagine reasons for Roboute to make an Imperium Secundus, none were compatible with the rumours that his existing Realm was suffering at the hands of the Emperor's Children.

It beggared belief that the Ultimate Warrior would leave his worlds when they needed him most.

"If it was Cthonia under attack, you can bet I would be there, that no other would defend my world but me," Horus had said quite emphatically.

Sanguinius opted not to point out that Horus had only spent a small amount of his time on Cthonia, that the majority of his upbringing had been on Terra, alongside the Emperor. He loved the people of that world, and with Terra lost - well, Sanguinius would not take that away from him. Though, of course, the Emperor would certainly want to. Cthonia was well-defended, but practically on Terra's doorstep, and nearly surrounded by Imperial systems.

But that was a future concern. Now, after a surprise communication from Perturabo, they both watched both ships make anchor. Horus turned his attention once more to the Angel. "That was a bolt out of the blue if there ever was one. I always suspected there was something different about the Alpha Legion, I always thought Alpharius had a personality complex or something. Sometimes he was harsh, other times he could be quite thoughtful - well, now I know why. Twins."

"Have to feel for Omegon," Sanguinius quietly spoke. "Alpharius was obviously the – no pun intended- alpha of the two, and therefore a lot of Omegon's own personality was buried under being his brother. I can only imagine what had come to pass between them to cause this."

"It matters not." Horus set his handsome features into a grim mask of determination. "Perturabo says that he is who he says he is, and that's good enough for me. Besides, I've always been good at sensing my brothers. Since Sixty-Nine Nineteen I've never been able to reconcile the strange behaviour of the Alpha Legion; now I know why, and maybe I can build bridges with Omegon."

"Maybe he can answer the questions I would like to know about the Alpha Legion. Do they even have a home world, and did the Emperor know about them both?"

"I suspect, my brother, that our father created Alpharius and Omegon for a purpose known only to himself. One that I am not entirely sure I want to know, but that I might need to."

Horus glanced at the vox officer, who informed him that both Lord Perturabo and Lord Omegon were requesting permission to come aboard. He told the woman to send his regards to both Primarchs and that they could come aboard when they deemed necessary.

A few moments later, two Stormbirds made their way across the velvet-black skies. Horus took his Mournival; Sanguinius had Raldoron, Azkaellon, and Berus with him. The chosen sons walked behind their Primarchs, completely at ease in each others company, for no two Legions were closer then the Sons of Horus and Blood Angels. The love between the Primarchs reached into their own sons, and there was never a bad word between the sons of Cthonia and sons of Baal - well, not between the Legions as a whole, at least.

"What do you make of all this, Ral?" Abaddon asked his Blood Angel opposite.

Raldoron shook his head a little. He was not only his Primarch's second but his equerry too, and there was none that could read hearts and minds like Raldoron could. He was also known for his fluidity in battle, changing to suit the situation, which too was one of the reasons he was Sanguinius's favoured son. But even the level-headed first captain was at a loss to answer Abaddon's inquiry.

"I am not sure, Ezekyle. All I know is what you know, that there has been a schism in the Alpha Legion and that it was run by twin brothers all along."

"See, that's what I always thought," Tarik spoke up. "I always found it a little odd, one moment he was tearing us a new one and the next apologising. I always said to myself either there are two of them, or Alpharius has deep issues."

"Yet you said nothing?" Little Horus arched an eyebrow.

"Who would have believed me?" Tarik shrugged. "No one but the Emperor and Sigillite would have known, probably not even in the Twentieth."

"You think the Emperor knew all along?" Loken asked.

"'Course he knew, Garvi, he created them after all. I suppose he wasn't sure if he would ever find them again, especially since they were the last, and that's why nothing was ever said."

Berus rested a hand on Tarik's shoulder. "I hate to dim your observation, cousin, but I think the Emperor knew exactly where they were, what they were doing, and when they would come to the Great Crusade."

Tarik ruefully agreed. "So what's your take on it, Ber?"

The High Warden of the Blood Angels watched his father's and uncle's retreating backs. "I think the Alpha Legion were formed to be the Astartes that police the Astartes. They are the best infiltration experts in the Legions, especially against the others; their father is called the Specialist... I think they were created for something just like this, but now Omegon has discovered his own voice, and won't be dictated by his father screwing with the order of things."

"Well," Azkaellon spoke, "we will soon know what is going on."

* * *

Demeter stared as another rune on his visor went out. Something was going on, and it wasn't a malfunction with his power armour's circuits. He had checked it all himself before landing on this world, and again before the Primarch sent him on this detail. His war-gears armour was looking forward to the coming battle, in the name of Fulgrim and _She-who-Thirsts_ \- he could even feel its eagerness, in the tingling under his forehead's skin.

A few moments, later another rune blinked out; that made five so far. Brothers Casterium, Iveco, Hyana, Solax and now Tyro were gone: no sound, nothing. He stopped. Damn this night cover: he could barely see despite his own enhancements, because a fog had descended, making it difficult even for genehanced eyesight to penetrate. The gods of war were making this difficult, that was for certain. It was not how it was supposed to be, nor what was expected of him. He was relieved that Fulgrim was not here, or else he might have faced the same fate as Eidolon.

That voice, that inner voice that had been with him since he fought his former favoured sergeant spoke to him now. Her voice, like silk, caressed his nerves with lust that he had never thought possible to feel again.

 _Look up, Solomon._

He had learnt not to disregard that voice. Although he wanted to hear more of it, he brought himself under control. Doing as it told him, Solomon Demeter looked up.

Brother Seracon was being lifted into the air, his head neatly cut from the neck and returning to land at Diameter's feet. There were no predators that hunted like this on Calth, but they were being hunted. Demeter waited, then, raising his bolter, he fired. He knew he had hit his target: even in this damned fog, he knew he had hit the bastard.

He waited and then walked over to where the midnight clad warrior lay, a bolter shell having gone through his helm and out the back of his head.

"Fuck," he whispered to himself before opening up his vox channel. **++We have Night Lord Raptors, repeat, Night Lord Raptors... Raise your armor sensitivities as high as you can and blow those barbarians away. For Fulgrim and the Emperor!++**

 **++Death to their foes!++**

The element of surprise was gone. Ferok cursed his bad luck: he had underestimated Demeter. He looked to the left as Brother Kevarala clutched his head, blood pouring from his eyes and ears. Looking back down, he saw Demeter looking up. He raised his bolter as Kevarala's flesh sloughed from his face, and shot him.

"Dominus Nox, brother," he whispered.

The Emperor's Children should not have been able to see them. The fog had been a hindrance even to them, but it should have rendered them undetectable... but that bastard had seen them. He did not know how, but as the Ultramarines would say, such was the practical.

He looked to his brothers and cousins. **"No more hiding, time to take the fight to them. For the Night Haunter and Nostramo."**

 **"For Calth and Gulliman!"** the Ultramarines shouted back after the Night Lords repeated their beloved captain's words. **"Courage and honour!"**

And they fell into the fires of hell, like death from above.

* * *

Horus sat across from Omegon and listened as his brother explained what had happened to the Alpha Legion. Since before Racas, Omegon had been disquieted about the direction the Emperor was going, and the beating of three of his top agents had tipped the balance. To Istvaan, and the decision there.

"You still have the Geno, my lord?" Abaddon asked, with no attempt at hiding his awe. Even the great Ezekyle Abaddon knew of the rich history of the _Geno Two-Five Chiliad_.

"Yes, they remained with me on the _Beta_ \- I had them transferred across to my vessel when I got back after Racas. Both of us have other operatives, though. Alpharius has a favored contingent of Lucifer Blacks, for instance, that are utterly loyal to him and him alone."

"So who did I deal alongside with on Racas?" Sanguinius asked.

"Both of us, brother," Omegon told him. "I was with you when my agents were beaten, Alpharius at the start and end."

"How are we going to tell the difference?" Horus asked.

"I still have my hair." Omegon smirked a little. "I grew it en route to the _Iron Blood_ and put it in a top knot. My skin is also half a shade darker than Alpharius - though, in the end, I suspect either of us could still impersonate the other, if we wanted. But in the open, there's also the change in our colors, blue and green separated out. We are now calling ourselves Sons of the Hydra."

"I like it." Sanguinius grinned a little. "So, brother, what did the Emperor want you to be?"

Omegon was silent for a long time, and Sanguinius did not think he would answer. In reality, the Last Primarch was weighing up the pros and the cons. To divulge the Alpha Legions greatest secret... but then again, in these times, it was hardly a secret any more, especially with Alpharius siding with that damned self-styled favoured son of Chaos.

"A bit of everything, and some things we were to be told when the time required. But all in all, as you might've guessed, we were the Astartes that not only policed the Imperium and the ruling Governors, but the Astartes too." Omegon took the tankard offered him by Horus. "We were designed to gather intelligence in clandestine ways, ways that ensured we were never caught. The Emperor, curse his name, wanted us to be able to infiltrate all manners of planetary structures, from technical to political. He also wanted us to infiltrate the Legions, should they start becoming a problem."

"Was he becoming paranoid?" Horus asked, unsure whether he was hearing right. His father, the man he had looked up to and been closest to since he was a boy, was in reality more of an enigma then even the first above all Primarchs could fathom. In many ways he had always been, if one considered it, but only now was the Warmaster starting to think that he never knew the Emperor at all. That the man he had shared everything with was, in reality, a complete stranger.

"He was always paranoid, but his reasoning was sound. He told us it was to ensure the security of the Imperium. That he needed a legion that could operate undetected and unsuspected in places where mortals would err."

"An Astartes intelligence service." Sanguinius sat back and rubbed his jaw, an idea starting to form in his mind. He looked at his brother and rested a giant hand on the pauldron. "Then, Omegon, you will continue with your original creation-plans. For now we will talk about where best to insert your sons and daughters. When we are all certain that it is going to work, then Horus and I have something for your sons to get their teeth into."

"Oh?" Omegon looked at both his brothers, an eyebrow raised.

Horus read Sanguinius's mind perfectly and smiled a little. "The Dark Angels," he said. "No one knows what the Dark Angels are doing or what they are up to, and we want you to do some recon missions into the Caliban system. Then, when we are certain that it is advisable, we want you and your sons to find out what el'Jonson is doing, and stop it."

"A bold plan." Omegon was already making plans in his head for just such a mission, reflecting on its prerequisites. The First and Last Legions had always been close in several ways, but tracking the Lion had of late become difficult indeed, especially as he was rarely on campaign against the Coalition. "But you do realise that Alpharius will have been given the same objective? He will infiltrate the renegade legions, as they call us."

"Counting on it." Horus smiled. "Perturabo and I have already planned for such an occasion, have we not, brother?"

Perturabo inclined his head. "Already we are planning the disinformation to be sent to those we know have... issues of security. And I already suspected Alpha Legionnaires are insinuated into our forces. We have a list of names of suspects; perhaps, brother, you would be kind enough to go over them and see if we are right or wrong"

Omegon took the data slate and looked at the list, which was approximately twenty times longer than the number of actual Alpha Legion infiltrators. "This will take me a day to work it out."

"Then I will see to it that you are given guest quarters aboard the _Vengeful Spirit_." Horus held his hand out. "Welcome home, brother."

Omeagon gripped Horus's arm, hand to forearm. "It is good to be home, brother."

Perturabo cleared his throat. "It is time for me to return to the war. Should I go to eastern Ultima, and the Ultramar campaign?"

Horus rose from his seat and shook his head. "The Wolf King is there, he would not appreciate the interference. No, I have something else in mind for the Iron Warriors, and it is along the same lines as the... Sons of the Hydra." He smiled a little, liking the feel of that name already. "First, I want you to go to see Magnus. He might have got the information that Amon had buried in his head by now."

"Has he still not got that yet?" Perturabo asked. "That was months ago."

"Apparently it is a delicate process, and Amon's conditioning is such that Magnus does not wish to do more than is necessary to unlock the ciphers Malcador put in place and render Amon mindless," Horus explained. "Whatever he put in there is buried deep and well, and to that end, I would like Omegon to go with you in person. Perhaps he will have insights Magnus does not. Besides, should you need to go deep into Imperial space, I want him to train some of your sons in the art that the former Alpha Legion was so damn good at."

Omeagon nodded "Do you have mortal crew that work alongside your sons, brother?"

Perturabo shook his head. "Not closely."

"Then when we have finished here, I request that you allow me to board the _Iron Blood_ with some of my operatives and three of my sons, to train some mortals and Astartes in the use of infiltration. You will need three Librarians to be with them - it is due to them that we can operate as we do so effectively." Omegon knew, of course, that this was all an exercise in trust as much as anything. Horus and Sanguinius doubted his loyalties, but trusted him instinctively. Perturabo would be more careful in that respect, while also being a more limited target.

"Deal," Perturabo nodded and looked at his older brothers. "And then?"

"Then," the Warmaster said, "if Magnus has not solved the puzzle - or if the solution does not call for a full Legion's aid - I want you to secure the region and lead an offensive into Segmentum Solar from the northeast. We cannot win this war except on Terra, in the end. We cannot lose sight of that."

"True," Perturabo said. "I will have to see the situation in the region before knowing how much I can do immediately, but I will prepare the ground for the strike at Terra, at the least. Now, has the galley cooked up something special? I'm rather hungry."

Horus and Sanguinius laughed. Perturabo was still the same person, but in the company of Horus and Sanguinius, he relaxed so much more than before. Sanguinius believed that a friendship as strong as the one that he had with Horus would develop between those two, and he was glad to see it. Perturabo had often been compared to Dorn by less enlightened of their brothers, but their approaches had rubbed against each other more than in sync. It would be good for the Lord of Iron to have a brother he could rely on.

It seemed some good things had come out of this after all.

* * *

Demeter didn't bat an eyelid as his armour was dented by the talons of Captain Ferok: all he cared about was stopping this hindrance. He had already lost a dozen men to the high-style, grab-and-fly tactics of the Night Lords, and there was no time for hesitation in combat. He didn't care that the Ultramarine units with them were dying; he was more concerned as to why the Night Lords had sided with the renegades. Those were answers for another time, but he would have them; all he had to do was keep the captain alive long enough to get those answers.

He ducked as Ferok flew overhead, and then an idea came to him. Amidst the roars of anger of the Night Lords and Ultramarines and the roars of affirmation of the Emperor's Children, he grabbed the jump-pack and found himself taken high into the air.

Ferok was getting angrier by the moment. His plan was falling apart, and where was that bloody Resna? He had started to respect the Ultramarines, but now he was doubting the validity of that trust. Gage had been so intent on listening to him that... suddenly, the weight was removed from his back, and Demeter was falling. Spinning around, he saw Sergeant Resna with his squad, high above him with sniper rifles engaged.

He calmed his choler, reminding himself to assign himself some time alone to not to be so rash in judgment. He hovered above Resna, then came to land next to him.

"My apologies, cousin." Resna bowed his head."We had some Emperor's Children to plough through."

"Then they knew about this?" Ferok shook his head.

"It seems that Captain Demeter sussed everything out once he realised they were being attacked."

Ferok watched as runes on his HUD started blinking out. The Emperors Children were recovering, and killing his brothers in good order. He looked at Resna, both of them knowing that they would not live through this day. Even so, something needed to be done to ensure their deaths would be worth it.

"I need three Ultramarines to go to the caverns. We will not be able to hold them for long, but long enough for three to get the message down."

"Renda, Uselius and Inshana - you three go... now."

"Yes, sergeant." The three battle-brothers took off away from the main field of battle, as their sergeant ordered.

Resna shoulder-slung his rifle and drew his gladius ."And they shall know no fear," he muttered as he took position beside Ferok. "Courage and honour, cousin."

Ferok nodded and altered his vox grill. **"Sons of the traitor Fulgrim... we have come for you!"**

His voice echoed like it came from the pits of Nostramo's deepest mines. It alerted the Emperor's Children that he lived, but not his position. To his brothers, though it was a beacon to rally to. With the Ultramarines behind him, he met up with the remnants of his brothers and the other Ultramarine squad.

They came down as one.

* * *

The battle was not as one-sided as Demeter would have liked. The Night Lords and Ultramarines were tenacious, and he had to admire them for that. It seemed that the Ultramarines were not working to their standard doctrine of battle. For once, the sons of Gulliman were adapting to their allies' battle-style, rather than demanding the reverse.

He allowed himself a small smile of anticipation for that. With their uptight father away, they were thinking on their own. Good - that would make this fight more memorable. He grabbed Resna and went to plunge his sword into him. At the last moment, the Ultramarine sergeant moved aside: he ducked under the lunge and moved his gladius across the already-battered breastplate, hearing the sound of metal on metal as he scored the aquila on the chest.

Demeter snarled with anger at the defamation of his armour and the sigil of the beloved Emperor. He grabbed Resna's arm and, with a strength that defied even an Astartes', he ripped it from the socket. Resna's HUD went haywire as his body sought to compensate for the trauma, his suit screaming as battle-systems started powering down. The Ultramarine experienced the moment of shock trauma before his body could adjust, but he continued fighting, he had another arm... but Demeter was already attacking, and before the Sergeant could recover fully, the sword came through his back and erupted out the front.

"You fought well, cousin," Demeter hissed, "but I am the better warrior."

Resna moved forward, bringing the Third Legionnaire over his head. Reaching round with his remaining arm, he pulled his bolter out and fired. Demeter rolled, but not before the bolter took off his left pauldron.

Resna's mind willed him onward still, to exploit the opening, but his body was failing him. The sword was preventing his healing: there had been something in the blade. He staggered and fell to his knees. Ferok could only spare a glimpse of horror from his own fight at the Sergeant fell. Demeter got to his feet and pulled the sword from the ailing son of Guilliman.

"Courage and Honour - isn't that your catchphrase, cousin?" He sneered. "Well, you certainly had both, but it turned out not to be enough."

He wrenched the helmet off and cupped Resna's face in his hands. He read the death rite perfectly, and it sent shudders of extreme pleasure through him, as did the evident confusion in the Ultramarine's eyes. He stepped back, gripped his sword, and with a swipe, severed the head from the shoulders. Demeter wiped the blood on his gauntlet and then tasted it; the rich, genecoded blood of an Asartes sent his mind and senses haywire, in seconds one and a half centuries of memories whipped into his mind.

 _A boy doing the Angelus Barracks tests, a scout with an aptitude for sniping, a battle brother serving beside his father and the Chapter Master, leading his own assault squad..._

"Exquisite," Demeter muttered and turned as he heard the footfalls of the Night Lord Captain. The severed heads of his kills were impaled on spikes that rose from his pauldrons and his backpack. If that was meant to scare the First Captain, it failed in that purpose. "Dramatic," he muttered.

"You would know more about that than me, cousin," Ferok snarled.

"So why would the Night Lords betray the Emperor?"

"You'll figure that out eventually." Ferok refused to be drawn. Instead, he lowered his weapons. Demeter read it perfectly, even as the dead from all sides fell and the wounded were being attended to by his Apothecaries, who not only extracted from their own brothers, but the fallen Night Lords and Ultramarines as well, though for a somewhat different purpose. Ferok wanted to settle this in the old-fashioned way, it seemed.

He was more than happy to oblige: this was going to be fun.

Ferok was not as easy prey as Demeter assumed, and he was far-removed from the myths that surrounded his creed. Despite being a ganger turned transhuman, he was a very technical fighter. Demeter found a little respect creeping into his psyche for his opponent. Every blow he traded was countered or dodged, and the ones that hit anything, whilst capable of taking heads off humans, barely phased the Nostraman giant.

Ferok landed blows that would disfigure his cousin, breaking his nose, puncturing an eye; but unlike Lucius, Demeter was not bothered. He was enjoying the old fashioned brutality, and indeed his body screamed for more, but he needed to finish this: there was a cavern to attack, and if the gods of war were with him this day, there he would find the traitor Lion of Chemos and take his head back to his father.

He dug deep within his memory, to a fight in the barracks on Chemos during his training, and brought it to the fore. Grabbing Ferok's head, he brought his knee up and smashed into his face, shattering the jaw and nose, blood spraying in an arc. He brought his knee up again, and again, and once more, battering the armour of the Night Lord and breaking ribs.

Ferok moved his head up and the back connected with the Emperor's Children captain, sending his head snapping back. Ferok managed to recoup his strength, a bloody smile across his face. His squad were dead, his allies were dead, it was just him and the strange First Captain now. Strange because he had heard Demeter was a level headed warrior - somewhat impulsive at times, perhaps, but not prone to such extremes as this.

Then, he dodged the chainsword that came at him and scowled. With a shoulder jab, he caved in the skull of the Astarte that had come at him.

The rules had changed. The veteran squad of the First Captain circled the lone Night Lord.

"Clever, Demeter," he said through broken teeth. "Now I know that you are a dog without honour."

Not that Ferok held any regard for honour; but he knew well how to taunt a cousin of the Third, even now.

He was hit in the back by a maul and sank to his knees, the electricity short-circuiting a lot of his suit's own power conduits. The sergeant hit him again and again. Demeter, arising, roared as the Night Lord was lain prone, the sergeant raising his foot.

"Night Lord dog," he snarled. Bringing his boot down, he snapped the neck of the Night Lord Captain and shattered the spine column. He laughed. "She-Who-Thirsts has her sacrifice!" He drove his maul into the remnants of the Night Lord's head and raised his arms, only to have a fist wreathed with eldritch-flame erupt through his chest.

"Captain, I..."

"Disgraced me," Demeter snarled. "This was an honour fight, one I was winning at that. I did not need your so-called aid."

He withdrew his fist, holding two beating hearts in the giant gauntlet. He dropped them as the sergeant fell dead to the ground. That done, he knelt down by the dead captain and heaved a sigh. "You fought well, cousin, as an Astarte should, but I need to know why you have all turned your back on our most beloved grandfather." He took his dagger and cut the cranium; digging in, he took the still-warm brain and took a chunk from it.

He saw the approach to Nostramo, the fleet of Word Bearer vessels in orbit around the world of the Night Haunter. As he took another bite, he saw Lorgar order the destruction of Nostramo. Setting the remnants of the brain down, he wiped his mouth. Other, more distant memories settled in his mind, but he filed them away to access later: they would hardly have tactical use. Now, at least, he knew why the Night Lords were rogue.

Putting on his helm, he made a priority call to his father. He would need to hear this: both that the Night Lords were here, and that most likely, so was the Dark King.

"Clean up, take the gene-seed of the dead, and get ready. We are moving to the caverns; I want to be there in three hours, not a minute more." He looked down at the dead Sergeant "And leave this dog for the carrion, gene-seed included. Anyone else thieving my kills will suffer the same fate." With that, he walked away.


	14. Chapter Twelve

Gulliman City waited, awaiting its fate. Like Janikos's warriors from the myths, each and every Astarte detachment, Imperial Army regiment, Civilian Defence group, Planetary Defence force, Titan, and civilian militia waited.

Standing over the Gate of Konor, Marius Gage, First Chapter Master of the Ultramarines and Regent of Ultramar, awaited his fate. To either side of him, two captains - Longenius of the 32nd and Leosanus of the 15th - kept their vigil.

The Chapter Master had listened into Ferok's vox right up until he died. He commended the Night Lord and his squad for their bravery, but it was all he could do. He turned his gaze back to where the city's defenders waited like himself, aware that the angels of death were waiting to feast on the souls of the so-called Imperials and the so-called Renegades alike. He watched as Jarl Sven Jorgenson joined him, his face as stoic as the Chapter Master. Neither man was afraid of death in battle; it had been their destiny since adolescence, and both men had lived long and glorious lives. What scared Gage was losing Ultramar to the foul things that the Emperor's Children had become. And nevertheless, he knew Vespasian was not going to stop at anything less.

Gage had told all of his Astartes to fight according to the situation. Past theoreticals had not been designed for wars such as this, not for one reason but for a trident of them. All the same, there were some approaches that worked... but not many, and the intuitions of the Space Wolves and Night Lords, which Gage had briefly hoped may provide a solution Ultramarine doctrine could not, were faring no better. There was no hidden way to turn the tide, and no victory against the warped Emperor's Children in sight.

Gage looked to the heavens for deliverance: where was his father? The Ultimate Warrior? The Empire Builder? His worlds were wreathed in flames of madness and he was nowhere to be seen.

For the first time in his two centuries of life. Marius Gage despised his father more than anything else. Perhaps it would pass, but for now he was angry - angry at his father's stubborn pride. Angry that Roboute Guilliman had not heard Horus out as the Warmaster had told him that the building of a second Imperium could wait until this one was dealt with. Angry that the Primarch had then departed galactic west, and left Ultramar with a defense that now seemed vastly insufficient. And angriest of all that despite everything, with Fulgrim tainted and Calth aflame, he knew nothing more about the Battle-King's whereabouts.

Already so many had died. No one had believed that Fulgrim would continue the battle; they had thought that he would search for another diversion, that the Emperor's Children had been bled dry. They had been wrong, so very wrong. If it were not for the arrival of Lord Russ and his sons, and the addition of the Celestial Lions...

Gage had all the tactical acumen one of his station was expected to have. But as the Night Lord had explained, against the Emperor's Children prior to this madness, that might have worked, now improvisation was necessary to rely on. It was a way of war he was not used to, and it wasn't working.

...The politicians had told him that as Regent of Ultramar, his place was on Macragge. He had told them where to go. Marius Gage was not about to let his brothers die whilst he sat snug and safe on the homeworld. Now, he wondered whether he should have stayed behind. To lose Calth was bad enough, but its consequences could have been ameliorated, instead of gambling everything on stopping Fulgrim here.

That was the thing about counterfactuals: you could never be sure.

Jorgenson watched as the Emperor's Children appeared on the horizon. Already the outlying farms burnt. With a heavy heart, Gage had ordered the gates closed. He had no idea what had happened to Captain Kelesian and his company, who had gone to usher the civilians towards the city. When he asked the Space Wolf, Jorgenson pointed and - needing no binoculars or spyglass - the four Astartes saw full well what had happened to at least the command of 19th Company. Their bodies were splayed across the tanks of the Emperor's Children, their chests ripped open, but - by all the fates - they were still alive. Gage set his jaw straight, his anger hidden behind his eyes, the scene burrowed deep into his soul. He spoke into his vox.

"Put our defiled dead out of their misery," he quietly ordered.

Shots fired from the massive cannons on the city ramparts. Despite the distance, they struck true, and the five tanks carrying the defiled bodies of the 19th Company Captain and his command staff were blown into next quarter.  
 **  
++Tyros, begin targeting solutions and fire at will++** Gage ordered.

 **++Courage and honour My Lord++**

 **++Indeed++** Gage looked to his Captains and the Space Wolf. "They will breach the walls eventually: Vespasian is an expert on such matters, and they have the numbers. We need to take as many as we can before that happens. Jorgenson - I want you and your Rout brothers alongside my company and me. We will face these bastards in front of the city walls."

"My lord," Longenius protested. Marius cut him off before he could finish.

"If I hear one more statement about how important I am to the Five Hundred Worlds, I will send you back to the ranks." His blue eyes were stern and unyielding. "The Primarch may have abandoned us to this fate, but I will not sit on a throne whilst good men and women die in my name."

"You, you really believe that my lord?" Longenius was shocked to hear such seditious words coming from the Regent's throat.

"I have no other option but to believe it," Marius replied, then took a deep breath. "Courage and honour, brothers; that will win the day, that and the determination of Astartes, humans, and Titans. Nothing else."

The two Captains bowed their heads and went to their positions. Jorgenson arched a thickset black eyebrow "Bold words, Regent."

They felt more than bold to him - they felt like lies. Gage wondered if the Space Wolf could smell that. It did not matter. "Aye, cousin, but words alone are not going to win this day. Shall we go?"

Jorgenson held his hand out. "For Mother Fenris, Russ, and the Imperial Truth."

"And we shall show no fear." Gage held the Fenrisian warrior's arm for a moment or two longer than necessary. "And pray to the fates that Bjorn does as he promised."

"He will not let us down, Regent. I sent the Vox this morning; he will be here."

The Regent of Ultramar took a deep breath and, with the Emperor-class Titan _Prince of Morsari_ shielding their march, the Ultramarines' 1st Company and elements of the Rout's 3th Company took their place before the gates of the city, their banners held high.

Gage raised the Sword of Macragge and, raising his vox-level so it could be heard by his allies and foes both, roared, **"FOR CALTH, ULTRAMAR AND THE 500 WORLDS! COURAGE AND HONOUR! WE SHALL KNOW NO FEAR!"**

The shouts were echoed by the defenders. Vespasian arched an eyebrow as he took in the scene before him.

"Fools," he muttered under his breath, "those brave, but misguided, fools."

* * *

Lord Commander Vespasian, now the senior Lord Commander of Fulgrim's Legion, waited for a moment. Prayers had been made to the Goddess, the sacrifices required for her patronage and blessing this day given. He ordered the sonic weaponry to the front as the tanks of Guilliman City, Astarte and Imperial Army both, rolled out to a protective flank around their Chapter Master and his force.

 **++Captain Horonsa, if you would please take that Titan down++**

 **++Yes, my lord++**

The two ranks of Emperor's Children Noise Marines readied themselves. Then, at the word from their captain, they let loose such a perfectly discordant cacophony of noise it disrupted not only the tanks' on board systems but the Titans' too.

Princeps Tyros slapped his hands over his ears as the unholy noise rushing in his direction caused his beloved Titan to rock on her giant legs. Her pain was as much part of him as it was her. Blood began to fall from his ruptured eardrums, the Titan's cry as loud as the attack itself to him.

"Eragan - fire, bloody fire," he swore, trying to gather his wits whilst preventing a neural feedback.

The guns and rockets attached to the mighty war machine boomed out towards the enemy line, silencing the noise, but the damage had been done. The _Prince of Morsari_ was injured, and badly so. Tyros himself was dying from the neural feedback he had received moments before her systems finally shut down.

Moderati Velena moved from her seat, ordering her second into her place. She unplugged the Princeps from his throne and lay his body on the deck; the blood from his ears, eyes and nose told her the prognosis was certain. She shook her head and muttered a prayer to the Omnissiah.

Eragan clutched his head and groaned in pain. Velena grabbed his shoulder. "Oskar, Oskar come on, you're the second... get in that throne, we need to get the old girl started again."

"I, I can't, her systems are shot to hell, whatever that was, it broke through the shields and all her defences - "

"Never say never." Seeing that he was not going to move, Velena ordered a medical team to take him away and put his second in the chair. Then, taking a deep breath, she climbed into the throne, allowed the tech priests to plug her in, and waited.

Her body became one with the Titan. She could sense her pain: she was like a small child, curled in a ball as if she had seen some monster under the bed. Velena had trained for this, but had never gotten the chance in the _Prince of Morsari_ : Tyros had been a chauvinist and, furthermore, had always obstinately refused to consider the possibility of his own death.

 _Come on girl,_ she thought , _fight it, we need you, the Ultramarines need you._ Not in words, of course; it could be described as a mixture of images and machine-code, though that was still an oversimplification.

 _Pain,_ it screamed back at her, _too much pain_.

 _You've had worse, come on, I have tended you before, I will tend you again, but I need you to be operational._

It took long seconds, but eventually, the Titan's soul was soothed enough for Velena to get a repair crew into the heart of the Titan and start repairs. She would be ready, but it would take time, which was as bad as it sounded in combat conditions.

"Systems status," she ordered.

"Firing solutions offline," Megava called up.

"Sensors and motive cognitors scrambled; I can get them up and running, but it will take me time," Negara told her.

"Time we do not have. Do the best you can, gentlemen; the Regent needs us to be ready," Velena told them both. "Someone tell the Regent that we are working on getting systems back online."

She listened as she was told that both Tyros and Eragan had succumbed to their injuries, making her the Princeps. In a spare moment she read the casualty list: two hundred wounded or dead from the Emperor's Children first volley, but that figure still paled in devastation compared to the damage dealt to the machinery. Whatever that was it had done its job.

She had to turn it around and turn it around fast. For all their sakes. **++Princeps Holton and Useva, my compliments; we are wounded, we need you both up here with your Titans. Get the Warhounds out here, give those soldiers cover.++**

 **++Where is Princeps Tyros Olivia?++** Holton called back.  
 **  
++Dead, as is Eragan. I am now the Princeps.++**

The silence was short. **++Understood, Princeps, on our way++** that was Useva; a woman as stern as a Martian examiner, but one who got the job done.

Velena sat back in her throne. She would get the Titan up and running if it was the last thing she did.

* * *

There was no structure, no order to the battle for Guilliman City. It was war at its basest and bloodiest. The Ultramarines spilled from the city, protecting their Chapter Master paramount in their minds. Behind them, the human defenders fired their weapons, targeting the likewise human army that accompanied the Lord Commander's forces.

Against the behemoths in purple and gold, their weapons would be like gnat stings (though enough of those would still be lethal). Gage was pleased to see them firing at the other humans; it made his job easier. Wading in, his sword held high in one hand, his bolter in the other, he took his shots, disciplined, timed and deadly. He wanted Vespasian; he wanted to rip the bastard apart for daring to set his traitorous feet on such hallowed ground as Calth, revenge for the Five Hundred Worlds that now awaited the outcome of this battle with collective baited breaths,

To lose Calth would be to lose Macragge.

He turned as the Librarians, free from the edict of Nikaea and once more in their blue-and-gold hoods, let loose their own powers. It was their birthright, and Gage was proud to see it. He was pleased that the Warmaster had rescinded the orders of Nikaea; battles like this needed the Librarians. When this was over he would ensure that the proper procedures were taken to have the re-established Librarius be properly organized. Untrained psykers were a greater danger than ever now, but equally, trained ones were a greater-than-ever boon.

Rune Priests joined their cousins, picking off the flanking enemy and killing them in good order. Gage found new admiration for the Librarians of Fenris... not Librarians, technically, but Rune Priests, which was a point the Wolves were rather insistent on. He ducked under a bolter that had come up in front of him and, without pause or recourse, shot the Emperors Child in the face.

He had long since given up his kill count; it had already risen into the hundreds. He had also given up on naming his prey: one name merged into the other and he, like his brothers and cousins inside the city, could only see the advancing horde and the death that was being wrought. There was no time now for the doubt and fury that had haunted him, only to fight and kill - and Gage was distantly aware that he was doing that better than he ever had.

Over his vox he heard a human whoop. "Like fish in a phonebooth!"

"Like what?" He heard Sergeant Omisian ask. Omisian was one of the brothers stationed on the towers, guarding and directing the fixed defenses.

"Old Terran saying, my lord; like fish trapped in a box, all cramped and easy targets at the moment."

"Aye, lad: at the moment. Now save your euphoria and keep going."

Gage allowed himself a small smile even as he killed; there were bonds being forged this day between the mortals and immortals, some of the Calth defence force already following the Rout and the Ultramarines, determined to drive these invaders away from their home.

He could have ordered them back to their positions, but he didn't, because this was what the Emperors Children seemed to forget. The civilians of Calth did not wear the cobalt blue, but they were all warriors. It mattered not whether they were Astarte or soldier, farmer or mother, daughter or son; they all fought with equal determination, and that was exactly what had always made Ultramar work.

* * *

The Ultramarines and Space Wolves did not have it all their way, not that they had expected to. The Emperor's Children were carving their way through the bloody mess that lay around their feet with equal ferocity and determination.

Their Lord Commander led from the front, as he always did. Vespasian moved as a strike from the Titan _Uktena_ hit to his left, wiping out a couple of tanks and a unit of Chemos Third Infantry with it. Another shot hit an Emperor's Children squad, this time to his right, from a Warhound that had found it way through. _Hades Child_ was proving difficult to kill as it did what Warhounds were made to do: harry the enemy, strike, move back, and strike again. But it was not enough damage to break them. The renegades were delaying the advance, he knew that, but for what?

He got his answer: suddenly, after maybe half a day, the boom from the Emperor-class Titan sounded across the battlefield. She had awakened, and she was out for vengeance. He went to order the Noise Marines to attack once more, but realised what the Warhound had done: it had taken down the remaining Noise Marines under his command. He cursed, admiring the enemy's tenacity.

Running towards the Warhound, he leapt and jumped onto its back, just as a volley from the newly awakened Titan crushed what was left of the infantry with its weaponry - armaments made from hell itself, it looked like. That had always been an aspect of war, for all the renegades' accusations of 'taint'. He climbed the back of the Warhound, hand over hand. The beast bucked under him, determined to get this annoyance off, but he refused to budge. Eventually he made it to the canopy and stood, looking at the Princeps within. Rather young looking for a Princeps; maybe the vain bastard had juvenat surgery, who knew, who cared? He didn't.

He readied his maul and smashed it through the canopy window, then chucked a few inferno grenades in and dived from the top. As the Warhound died in a wreath of flame, he stood and smiled to himself.

"Perfect," he muttered before rejoining his men. "Call up the _Valencia_ ," he ordered, "and tell Princeps Ardois he is to target that Titan."

Shortly after giving the order, the sound of another Titan could be heard. As the _Prince of Morsari_ took her first strides across the battlefield, she saw the _Valencia_ , an Imperator Titan that matched her own shape. At first her Moderati balked, but her new Princeps was determined; she brought them under her control and turned to meet the enemy. This would be a battle to outclass any in the _Prince of Morsari_ 's record, but she would do what she had to do and bring that monster down.

* * *

The battle wore on and into the night's first embrace. The defenders along the walls changed shifts, snatching an hour where they sat; unlike their Astarte lords, they were unable to go without a rest period. Captain Ensarianus knew this. He had ordered that the army take shifts, that the soldiers along the wall were to be given something to refresh themselves with. In the meantime, the second line took over.

The Astartes carried on, and so did the bombardment. Ensarianus caught a young woman as the blast from one of the flak guns disintegrated the wall before her, killing two of her brethren and blowing her leg off. There was nothing he could do for her: the human medics were all over the place and would not have the time even if they had been here. The dying woman tried to fumble for her pocket.

Laying her down, he undid her jacket pocket and took a photo out. A battered photo - a man and woman with three children, her parents, he suspected. He handed it to her and she clutched it to her chest.

"Rest well, sister, your sleep awaits you," he whispered. She made no sound and her eyes stared ahead. He closed them and got to his feet.

He saw admiring gazes on the soldiers around him. Without a word being said, or an order being issued, they carried on as he had instructed hours before.

Ensarianus had taken care to instill in them that while, yes, Astartes were the gods of battle that could take the punishment no other could, they appreciated the fact that it was the Imperial Army that had conquered the greatest part of the galaxy. He respected them, he would stand by them, and that was all their tired bodies needed. But their souls needed a little more, something to give them more heart then they already had, to quash any doubts that rose from the fact that it was also Astartes that formed the enemy ranks this time.

Ensarianus had recalled the tale, which Lixantel had told him the previous day, of a human woman that had been adopted by a squad of Iron Warriors attacking a Dark Angel position some months ago. How she had become their sister and their good-luck charm, how her name remained etched alongside those of the great Astartes of the Lord of Iron's Legion. He told this tale so that every man and woman could hear. It gave them that something special; it gave them that hope of immortality which did not depend on them living to see the dawn. Most would not, but it did not matter: they were all part of this storm, Space Marine and baseline human alike.

Ensarianus fought on as new assaults hit the wall. When an Emperor's Child sniper took his left eye, he took the bastard's life with an accurate shot that almost defied logic. He still stood tall and proud; he had been born on Calth, and he would die on Calth if that was what was required.

But he would take some of these bastards with him.

* * *

The two Titans strode across the battlefield, their battle horns blaring. If anything was underfoot, it got squashed into the blood-soaked mud so thoroughly as to leave no trace. Tanks, ruined by the cannons and giant guns from either side, were nothing more then pebbles to the warring Titans, metal crushed underfoot.

Finally, they met. Like a pair of old Panik gods, they fought for the right to rule mankind. The _Valencia_ drove its humongous chainblade towards the centre of the _Prince Morsari_ , a disembowelling stroke, but the other Titan moved to one side, resulting in merely a scratch. Raising its chain gun, the _Prince Morsari_ fired into the centre of the _Valencia_ , aiming for its plasma heart. The _Valencia_ moved, but the onslaught took off one of the arms of the giant god machine. The crew in the bridge of the _Prince Morsari_ cheered and pressed their advantage.

But with one arm or two, a god-machine was still a formidable foe. Raising its foot, it struck at the knee joint. The _Prince Morsari_ buckled under the high-powered kick and moved to one knee as its left leg shattered under the impact. The _Valencia_ brought its massive arm up and aimed a strike at the face of the Titan itself, but the crippled _Prince Morsari_ raised both its arms and deflected the blow.

Velena wanted an opening; another blow like that, and she was not sure if the old girl would manage to fend them off. The knee joint was shattered, and she wouldn't be standing any time soon. Then, as a hail of tertiary weapons hit them, she saw the opening she wanted, but also that it would not end well for them either. A glance at her two Moderati showed that they had seen the same. An unspoken word passed between them all.

 _Farewell, my friend, you have served well,_ she thought with the heart of the machine.

The _Prince Morsari_ raised its massive chain-gun and, at the moment that the _Valencia_ moved in for a lethal barrage, pressed it against the chest and fired at point-blank range. The gigantic shells passed through the protective armour and, as it fired again, the plasma core became exposed. There was no hesitation, no second thoughts; this other Titan could not be allowed to live. The _Prince Morsari_ fired, destroying not only the _Valencia_ but itself too, an explosion that blinded many human warriors and even the Astartes suffered a moment's disorientation. Any that were near the dying Titans immolated instantly. There was no discrimination: Ultramarine, Emperor's Child, or human, the ashes left the mark of their bodies where they stood.

Gage whispered a benediction to the crew of the _Prince Morsari_ and, disembowelling an Emperor's Child, he moved on. Blood covered so much of his armour that it was now a dark red. Gore and brain matter dripped from much of his decorations, and his face was so matted with blood that he suspected he looked like some red skinned daemon from the old stories of hell itself.

At this moment in time, he felt that was what he was, propelled by hate that was fueled by doubt. But when his sergeant fell and Sven Jorgenson died at the hands of the warrior before him, he knew the end of the battle was drawing near. For before him stood Lord Commander Vespasian, and as dawn's first sign began to creep into the Calth sky, Gage drew on whatever reserves he had left.

He was going to need them.

* * *

Vespasian said nothing. No battle-taunts needed to be said between two such as they. Even with an overwhelming force against them, the Ultramarines and Space Wolves had fought well. In his mind it would not be enough to delay the inevitable, but sufficient to make this a perfect battle. War as it should be.

He read Marius Gage perfectly. Despite his appearance as the calm, collected Chapter Master of the largest - correction, formerly largest - Legion, his eyes were haunted. Vespasian could see it lingering behind the veneer of the warrior-king. He was angry, not just at all that was going on around him, but also at something else. Something that he was struggling to hold in.

Vespasian shrugged it off. It mattered not; maybe later they would discover what had disturbed the Regent of Ultramar, but now he wanted the perfect end, for surely with the death of Marius Gage this city too would fall.

The two warriors circled each other, waiting, watching, looking for an opening or a counter move. Vespasian moved first, but Gage sidestepped, using his sword to counter Vespasian's move, and slammed his fist into the Lord Commander's face, shattering his nose. Vespasian moved back, putting a finger tip to his ruined nose.

"Ah," he said, more to himself but loud enough for Gage to overhear. "So that's what Lucius felt like when Loken broke his nose."

If Gage wanted to see him wince in pain, he would be very much disappointed. A sordid smile creased the Lord Commanders thin lips and he bowed in mockery, then readied himself. This time, he countered Gage's thrust and drove his elbow into the side of the Chapter Master, knocking the wind from Gage for a few seconds. But it was a few seconds that Vespasian wanted; raising his knee, he sent Gage's head moving back as his jaw snapped, and then the rest of the Ultramarine's body.

On his back, Gage realised that Vespasian was toying with him, draining his energy like a leech sucking blood. He was exhausted from the battle, despite the abundance of adrenaline, metacmeine, and other stimulants that his anger had driven into his blood. Vespasian was by no means fresh, but he'd done far less of the killing himself.

Still, Gage thought, he would show his foe that he'd still underestimated Ultramarine endurance. Vespasian raised his foot, but Gage recovered; grabbing the raised foot, he twisted it savagely, the snap audible and the ankle bone protruding outwards. For the briefest of moments Vespasian felt the giddy feeling of a broken-bone trauma, but then his body got to work, flooding antibiotics to the affected area and numbing the pain.

As Gage came at him, he drove the hilt of his sword into the chest of the Chapter Master and the side of the blade up under the already broken jaw, causing it to splinter more. So it continued: for every blow a parry, for every counter a counterstrike, blood coming from numerous cuts and bruises forming where they had both taken a battering, their power armours marking the list of damages done to the suit and the body. It was a brawl of attrition, whose like would normally favor the Ultramarine - but the Emperor's Child had chosen it precisely for that reason.

A broken ankle, broken jaw, fractured ribs, broken ribs, broken arm, dislocated shoulder. It went on, and eventually, even the mighty Regent of Ultramar reached his finishing point. It came when Vespasian moved inside his guard and rammed his sword clean through a slight crack the Ultramarine's chestplate and straight through both hearts of the Chapter Master. Had the blade deviated even by a degree in either direction, it couldn't have pierced both hearts, and redundancy would've saved the Ultramarine - but Vespasian did not make such errors.

Gage sank to his knees. His body screamed at him to rest, to let an Apothecary attend him, but he had a fight to win even if it meant his life. Even now, he saw people who were not warriors showing some of the more seasoned generals how to fight. These people deserved a future; he wasn't sure what it would be, but he was damned sure it would not be under the yoke of the Prince of Sleaze and his minions, of an Emperor that no longer believed in what he had been preaching for however long he had been alive. Guilliman wasn't perfect, he'd known that long before - but what would he have given for Guilliman to be _here_!

His helm had long since shattered, but he didn't need a diagnostics screen to know he was dying. Vespasian now gloated. He whispered that, for all their cries of courage and honour, they had fought the same way in the end, that the Emperor's Children had merely done so better. That despite speaking of knowing no fear, there was fear here, plenty of it, enough to feed his warriors on the tantalising experience for weeks.

No, Guilliman wasn't perfect, because there was no such thing as perfection, except perhaps as an ideal. And if _this_ was what that ideal led to -

But Guilliman would never had done so, because it was he who had warned their foes never to leave an Ultramarine alive.

As Vespasian leaned forward, Gage, without moving his eyes from the face of the gloating Lord Commander, rammed his power-fist up between Vespasian's legs. As the unbalanced Emperor's Child toppled onto him, Gage grabbed his sword and shifted to let Vespasian fall onto it. In the same motion, he activated the rune stud that sent a pulse through Vespasian's body. The explosion rang like a bell as it blew he Lord Commander, the second-to-last thing Marius Gage heard.

Vespasian's head rolled to his left. Gage, with a great effort, met the dead man's eyes. And as his thoughts faded, the last sound to pass his ears was that of Bjorn the Fell-Handed and the core of Tra entering vox range.

Guilliman City was saved.

* * *

The warriors left standing, human and Astarte, all fell to one knee as the body of Marius Gage was born upon four openly weeping Ultramarines and four grim-faced Space Wolves. At their head, the bare-headed Bjorn the Fell-Handed walked slowly. His warriors had come in and taken the back ranks; within three hours, the battle was over, as the remaining Emperors Children, leaderless and no longer with the numerical advantage, were slaughtered by the vengeful Rout. Behind them came the same number of Ultramarines and Space Wolves carrying Sven Jorgenson's body, though the human crowds paid it less attention.

The weeping from the human warriors was silent at first, but as word spread that their beloved Regent was dead, it grew like a wave. There were Ultramarines that had served their father with no question now beginning to question where he was and why he had not been here, why it was that so many of them had to die, what he had been doing. But there were far more, in both Legions and among the hundreds of other units that had done their duty in the defense, whose anger was reserved for the Imperials alone.

Gulliman City was saved, and soon it would become known as the city of unity, where so many Ultramarine, Space Wolves, and humans fell in its defence. In time it would be named Gage City. But for now, the populace said goodbye to their Regent the way they knew how, and the Ultramarines that lived swore that his work would not be undone. A new Regent would have to be found, but for now, none wanted the job. It had been Marius's place, and not one warrior in battered cobalt-blue armour desired it.


	15. Chapter Thirteen

The bodies lay around the cavern's entrance gate. Demeter spat a gobbet of spittle to the ground in frustration. These humans were no match for him; twenty seconds, and their lives were over. Whilst the battle for Guilliman City raged, he and his company had made it to the entrance, but despite his conflicted hopes there were no Astartes, only Army personnel. Despite the lack of challenge, he had laughed as the smell of voided bowels and erupting bladders reached his nostrils. Such was the effect of an Astartes on a human. The very notion of these supposed soldiers even slowing the Emperor's Children down was absurd.

He stepped over a torso, its intestines sprawled around it, and moved further into the cavern. It would take a little while; these damn caverns were like underground cities and damnably dark. He ordered his brothers to switch to night vision, their eye lenses glowing an eerie green in the stygian blackness, but they didn't have any way to see through kilometers of rock.

They walked for over an hour, encountering minimal resistance. What resistance they did encounter died in seconds at the transformed Solomon Demeter's hand. Still, there were no Astartes; perhaps the Ultramarines had all bugged out, left to defend their cities at the call of their Regent and left the young unguarded. It didn't matter; the children would be theirs. Demeter was not one to deviate from his purpose so easily.

They stopped only when giants in blue armour appeared before them. Demeter ran his helm over their forms, and a smile twisted his features.

"Well, well, well," he drawled. "Hello Julius. Defected to the poster boys, have we?"

Julius Kaesoron stepped forward, the light from the single glowlamp above his head illuminating his armour - celestial blue, with a rampant Lion on the pauldron.

"You've had a wasted journey, Demeter," Julius told him, "The children are no longer here."

"Rubbish," Sergeant Ingellis scoffed. "There were human guards in number - "

"Brave souls that opted to remain to maintain the illusion," Julius calmly replied. "I did not want any more to fall here; I think this is our battle, don't you, Demeter?"

Solomon nodded. "And when I have taken your traitorous head back to our father, I will find the children."

"You won't be going anywhere, Solomon, except to whatever fate awaits you in the Warp," Julius promised. Then, feeling exhausted of speaking to this parody of his friend, he drew his sword. "Let's do this."

Julius had sent back three companies to aid the Wolf King, another two remaining within the caverns, to insure against his failure or another Imperial search party. At the moment, he stood with First Company alone, but that was enough.

Unlike Demeter, he knew the caverns he was in, thanks to the schematics (public and classified) he had read. He hadn't lied; there were no children here. They had been evacuated by the Ultramarines to the _Heroes' Redemption_ and translated out of the system hours ago. It had galled the sons of Guilliman and Russ to leave such a fledgling chapter to defend the arcologies, but in the end, he had convinced them that he and he alone could defeat Demeter, whereas they would be needed on the surface. So the remainder had gone out the other passages and gone to aid the Regent or the Wolf King.

Julius felt almost sorry for his foe; almost, but not quite. Not anymore.

"So no Night Lords to aid you?" Demeter cocked his head. "I know they are here; I had a run-in with some on the way here. Didn't end well for them."

Julius said nothing; he didn't need to. He knew what Demeter was up to. Krysander was already moving, and after a few seconds, the sounds of blade and bolter rang out around them.

"Very good, traitor." Demeter nodded his approval. "Then it is just us, as it should be, old friend."

Julius raised his bolter and fired. Demeter brought a shield up and around himself with but a thought. Kaesoron rolled his eyes; he had expected something like that, but it was still an unpleasant confirmation. But then, he had been changed in his own way. Opening his mouth, using a power he had never really wanted in the first place, Julius Kaesoron let loose a sonic noise that broke Demeter's shield and sent him staggering back.

Fury enveloped the new First Captain and, with a roar, Demeter shook his head clear and ran up the centre. To meet his old friend, brother, and former commander head-on.

The battle between them was brutal. Every so often, the Lion of Chemos's HUD would register a death or a wounded brother in his peripheral vision; but, much to his enduring gratitude, the Night Lords had thinned out the ranks to make it slightly more even, leaving him free to focus on the duel. The Emperor's Children were falling at an equal rate, though Demeter paid them even less heed.

For every opening that Demeter got, eldritch fire struck the Chapter Master, but it didn't stop him. It wouldn't, not anymore. Solomon had betrayed him - betrayed his friendship, his trust, and above all, his cause. He yelled once more, splitting his opponent's helm and causing Demeter to throw it to the ground, eyes swimming in pleasure as the sonic barrier washed over him.

It took a lot for Julius to control himself, and Demeter saw it. "Come home, brother," he cooed. "The Primarch will welcome you back with open arms, you know that."

"Never!" Julius snarled, bringing his emotions under control. He would have to learn to live with whatever he was, but it would be at his command, not some Warp phantom's.

He swung his blade, cutting across Demeter's exposed throat. The Captain moved back, clutching the wound, his blood flowing from it. Seconds later, the Larraman cells did their job and the wound closed as the blood clotted; but it was enough to break the moment.

Demeter threw his knife, striking his former friend through the left eye lens. Julius snarled and pulled the blade free, his eye coming with it. He threw both onto the ground; he had another eye. He fired his bolter, smashing Demeters jaw and cheek, a second shell taking half his face with it.

Demeter reeled, his body under too much abuse and still battle-weary from the fight with the Night Lords. But he forced himself to stay standing, even though there seemed to be too few warriors in violet and gold around, the world spinning...

He blinked as he realized he wasn't fainting, but rather being picked up by two of his sergeants.

"We must leave, captain; our Father has recalled us all. We cannot lose you, my lord," Ingelis said.

"No!" Demeter shouted. "He is mine..."

"It will come another day, lord... Vespasian is dead, with all his force." Ingelis used all his body strength to drag his commander away. He knew he might pay for it later, but he did not want to see his captain dead. Demeter was the soul of the Legion now.

Julius fired again, ignoring the two Sergeants and taking Demeter's left leg with an explosive bolt. The next shot missed, and before Kaesoron could reload the Emperor's Children had retreated out of range. Julius slumped to the floor, vaguely aware of a voice calling his name and the white helm of the Apothecary that tended him.

"How many did we lose?" he asked wearily.

"Fifteen brothers dead, twenty wounded. The Imperials fared worse." Krysander crouched down. "Gage is dead, my lord; he killed Vespasian, though." Krysander looked at the hall before them, now devoid of Emperor's Children. "We will meet them one day, lord; for now, we must get you and our wounded to safety."

"All that is left is the Wolf King's battle." Julius went to get up. "I want us to be there for this."

"We can't, lord; we have wounded to tend to, and you need to rest... that is an order from the Apothecaries."

Julius could have tried overruling his first captain, but he liked Krysander for this very reason: he was not afraid of disagreeing with any order if he found it flawed. The Lion of Chemos felt his eye grown heavy. Yes, he would leave the Primarchs' duel to fate. "Demeter is going to be a powerful psyker when he learns to use that properly."

"Are you sure he will live?"

"He will live," Julius sighed wearily. "He wants - no, needs - to kill me; it's perhaps the only truth driving him now. That alone will make him live, and that alone will mean that either my death will come at his hands sometime, or his mine. Or both."


End file.
